


1940 -- The Walls Fall

by dragonheart41057



Series: Miraculous French Resisters [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aged Up (26/27), Big THANK YOU! to Chloe's Mom on Tumblr for creating the prompt inspiration for this fic, Chloe continuously roasting German Officers and Generals out of house and home, Eventual Love Stories, F/M, Heads up! I'm allergic to short stories, Heavy Emotions, Is researched in depth as much as possible, Is surrounding Nazi Europe and the Holocaust, Love Story, Slow Burn, Thank Musiclvr1112 for Moms head-cannon inspiration, Will be punching Nazis, Will have some badass ladies, Won't go into explicit details of all horrors that occured
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-08-29 02:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16735755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonheart41057/pseuds/dragonheart41057
Summary: It's J̶u̶n̶e̶ ̶2̶8̶t̶h̶ (I messed up some dates by a few days) July 10th, 1940 in Paris, France. Chloe Bourgeois is now running her father's hotel during the German Occupation of France as he fled with the rest of the French Government to Vichy, a city in Southern France where they are now operating out of. She does well on her own but is definitely feeling the weight of the regime and everything that is happening to her city and world... but she'll be damned if she's not going to use her advantage in this situation to keep the people she can safe and away from the dangers while battling Nazi and French Officers with her words, her brain and her fists.Slow Burn. Sloooow burn. But good burn.





	1. Fear

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to begin with saying I was born in 1996 in the US where I continue to live. I did not have any first hand experience with the Second World War or the Holocaust. My connection to this event lies in the way most (Jewish and not) Americans' do, in my family's veteran history. I grew up hearing their stories and watching the history channel nearly 8 hours a day, catching the bug for historical discovery and research, but this DOES NOT make me an expert.
> 
> This is a human event which I luckily did not have to experience and I cannot and do not claim to have greater or purer insight into this manner than any other American Woman of my communal identities. I am writing this story because I always have and always will have a connection to the events of WW2, as all of us in the human race will, and I feel that this story is something I and others can benefit from reading and writing. Particularly in a world that is becoming scarier and harder to deal with, at least without a hero or two.
> 
> In conclusion: This is a story surrounding two characters and their possible actions in this scenario. I will try to be as historically accurate as possible because I am a huge nerd. I was inspired by [Queen-BusyBee](https://queen-busybee.tumblr.com/) (Shay/Leo) on Tumblr who created a post that pretty much maps out the first three chapters of this fic, although I did take some liberties with the historical background and my need to just see Chloe punch Nazis in the face and knock them unconscious.
> 
> Here's[ a link to their post!](https://queen-busybee.tumblr.com/post/166310984240/chlonath-historical-au)  
>   
> 

Chloé walked at a brisk pace down the hotel hallway. Her shoulders jerked into the ankle length coat now flowing behind her with her purse hidden snugly underneath it. Without so much as a pause for breath she slid her beautiful blonde ponytail out with one hand while the other grabbed the coat’s belt. She then began expertly tying a knot that would make a sailor jealous. Focusing on mundane tasks such as putting on a coat, tidying her hair and mentally recounting everything she placed in her purse helped to distract her from why she was hiding that purse, among other things. She made a left, the opposite way of the lifts, and soon found the tucked away side-door she’d become accustomed to using now.

It led to the Servant’s Stairwell.

She made sure to check behind her that no one was watching before entering the stairwell and instinctively placed one gloved hand on the rail before beginning her descent. Three weeks and four days ago she never would have _dreamt_ of going down this repetitive, echoing column of cold, unpolished stone. Now it’s the only way she can leave her home without being baraded by soldiers at the front door. Each walk down is getting easier and easier, as she realizes more how like this column, she is becoming... and how she doesn’t have the emotional capacity to care. She likes being in here, bequeathing a solitary reprieve on herself from the invasion that’s taken her house and home. Then she gets closer to the ground and it’s like the once comforting chill grips a little tighter, and a little tighter around her heart until the chill feels like if she doesn’t get outside soon, it will freeze her completely.

The last step comes, and her breath quickens between seconds before she finally exits through a small door to the right she has to duck under in order to pass. She enters a sliver of a back street separating Le Grand Hotel from the small, abandoned wing of a shopping center. Her breath is heavy, and she stands alone, her knees collapsing in on her as she shrinks from the weight of the… sheer-

 _No!_ Chloé looked up from the ground to the golden sun burning in the sky. _No. That’s not you._ The gleam of its yellow light radiated over the quiet corner of the world she’d found herself in, making everything shine just a little brighter. Her knees gathered strength and gradually she rose from her ledge. _There I am._  

Chloé looked from the sun to the street in front of her with a small smile, followed by an indignant humph before she moved forward. “They better have celery and honey at this peasant shop.”

\----

Chloé walked down the street with her head held high, a single bag of groceries in hand. The Reich was administering a strict regulation of food as well as clothes, supplies, and everything else marketable. No doubt they were trying to send the message, “Submit or starve.” as Chloe knew these rations weren't enough to keep people satiated, she was having complaints even now from patrons, and staff alike. And every time she brings it up with the high ranking officials occupying her hotel, they simply state "It's for the betterment of Europe." and go no further. How idiotic did they think Parisians had to be not to see this as a blatant threat on their livelihood? A hostage situation of something so integral to their culture _and_ survival. Of course, just walking in the streets Chloé could see not everyone felt the same, or rather was simply ok because they didn’t have a problem with who was currently occupying their city in the first place. Before the war came to France’s borders, everyone was scared, everyone was leaving for however far South they could go. Now… the people left, or more accurately the women left, that she sees outside on the street aren’t scared. Not many at least.

Maybe it was because all the sane people who weren’t arrested or… worse, had fled or were too scared to leave their homes unless necessary, much like her. It left the city quiet, the occasional bird song and laugh making one turn with catched breath and a small smile. It was something normal to distract from the torrent of hell her once bright and beautiful city had been sucked into – at least she saw it as hell.

A middle-aged woman speaking with a German officer walked past her, the officer only sparing her a second glance because of her beauty and no other suspicion – of this she was sure. What stood was the woman who was smiling as she spoke with him. Was Chloé really the only scared one here? The only scared one who wasn’t on the Nazi’s radar for being anything other than a beautiful French heiress? Did _no one else_ care what was happening?

Chloé’s pace slowed as she looked to the side-street, passing by several apartment buildings with yellow stars marked on them. Several had broken windows and the street below was strewn with abandoned house items such as coat hangers, lamp fixtures, night stands, kitchen cloths and the like. Thinking on it, they were all things that she wouldn’t have thought twice about leaving behind if she’d left with her father. A bag was packed in her room right now with almost everything she would need in a quick escape, as if she could find a way to do so now with phone lines and mail under strict scrutiny and regulation. However, she needed to be prepared for any chance she may find at leaving _while_ protecting what she loves that _can_ fit in a bag. She then saw a broach glittering from beneath a rough cloth on the ground. Chloé picked up the jewel and slightly charcoaled cloth, staring back at the deserted building they came from before observing them in her hands.

 _Wouldn’t be nearly important enough._ She sighed. _Costume jewelry always clashes with the rest of the pieces._

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a police siren off in the distance. Her head turned and her eyes widened in the direction of the siren, slowly growing louder, and louder, and-

Chloé began speed-walking down the street, looking around her for any onlookers. With each second, she found another person disappearing at the sirens growing threat she sped her pace until finally she was running her heals against the pavement, alone. She found a small passageway between buildings and jumped to steer herself down it, away from the street. The walls seemed to close in on her and she yelped as she felt a few spider webs catch at her legs and arms. Spiders were not on a list of things she needed to be afraid of and yet the thought of even their webs crawling on her skin sent her brain into high panic mode.

Desperately she looked for an escape route from her escape route not leading to whatever possibly horrifying thing was about to occur on the street when she found a small wooden door on the ground adjacent to the building, big enough to narrowly fit a person through but small enough to miss if you weren’t looking. Quickly she went down and tried the door, her muscles jumping as every nerve ticked with the clock of the siren’s wail, coming ever closer. She pulled at the handle but the lock inside proved to be sturdy. The siren became sirens, the second acting as the minute hand to the first’s deafening second.  

 _Dammit! Dammit! Dammit this CANNOT be happening to me right now!_ She pulled and banged at the door. Nothing worked, so she supported herself on her elbows, _Eh! Disgusting!_ And kicked the small door with both feet once, twice, three times the charm with all the strength she could muster. The door broke beneath her feet and she sighed, _Finally. Took it long enough!_

She pulled her groceries over her shoulder, scooted her legs into the small door and lowered herself to the ground inside. It was a small drop thankfully and at the impact Chloé immediately ran to the wall furthest away from the entrance. She breathed deeply and flattened herself against the brick, listening to the now somewhat muffled sirens as their wails continued to near. They grew, nearing the building outside, practically touching it with the wind formed by the buggy brushing past. They grew and grew… and then they shrunk, slowly and steadily. The sirens reached the beginning of the hour and ceased to be in ear shot.

A large gust of air escaped Chloé’s chest and more were soon to follow. Eventually she remembered the spider webs and quickly brushed every part of her off to make sure she missed none. Once she was content they had vanished, she relaxed and bent over, using the wall as support to lean against her knees, her hand coming to cradle her forehead.

“Haaaaaaaaaah.” She released a heavy sigh, not even noticing the tears that had fallen down her face throughout the ordeal. None of this was going to get easier, nothing was going to feel right ever again for Chloé at this rate. Then again, did she want it to? Getting used to a life like this… would that just make her like everyone else outside? Even if it would just be easier, would that make it ok?

Something metal then clashed against the stone of the underground cellar, making her jump from the wall. Instinctively she reached inside her coat for her purse but before she could open it, she saw in the low light of a half-boarded window a person. A civilian with long red hair, teal eyes… long clothes, one looped earing… Chloé’s eyes narrowed at the figure. “M. … Nathaniel Kurtzberg?”

His eyes widened with fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Note: The Germans during the occupation actually didn't see a point in antagonizing the French so their rationing of food as part of a controlled economy was not meant to starve the population, but mass levels of hunger and starvation were a lasting consequence anyways. I can see how a civilian observing this happening to them would think that it was meant to be this message of submission. 
> 
> The main purpose of the controlled economy was to join France's with Germany's in a way that would allow German forces to reap the man-power and industrial strength of the French economy for themselves to improve their stats in the war essentially.


	2. Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains an action scene, as well as mention of blood. Also guns are present, but are not used. 
> 
> Chloe is a badass. Enjoy.

The man jumped at the sound of his name and dashed up the stairs. He knew the woman who’d jumped into his hide out: Chloé Bourgeois, the most infamous heiress in all of Europe. Quickly he unbolted every lock he’d placed and scurried through the hallway to the back exit of the building. Mlle. Bourgeois bewitched the continent with her beauty and grace but spread coursing fear through the veins of the most powerful officials. Everywhere she went she would find a way to insult the very core of a person’s heart, leaving the sting to be healed by whoever was there to clean up the mess. He picked up into a full sprint once he reached the court yard, his bag slapping against his back as he passed the well-kept bushes, benches and fountain. They called her the Wasp of Paris, and it was a name he’d seen firsthand to be rightfully given. Friends and neighbors had reported him to the Reich, the Wasp of Paris would definitely be sure to do worse to him.   
“Da drüben!“ A German voice called over Nathaniel’s shoulder. He yelped at the sound, his feet jumping wider steps as he turned his head to look. “Halt!“ Two men of medium build in brown coats ran out from an alley he’d passed; they were German soldiers no less than 30 feet away from him. “Arrêtez! Par ordre du Troisième Reich!”(Stop! By order of the Third Reich!) 

Nathaniel launched forward, turning right before the soldiers could aim their weapons. He kept running and made a left into a thin strip of walkway, jumping over a large fruit cellar door. The soldiers were yelling over his shoulder for him to stop but he knew they wouldn’t fire at him in such close quarters, they never did for whatever reason. All that was left was for him to outrun them and hide before he drew the attention of others and do it before they fired a shot. 

He sprinted past a wider walkway into another small passageway before turning left again and… running too deep into a dead end. He was going too fast to stop in time. He turned to leave but was faced with the frustrated mugs of the soldiers chasing him, one with his gun pointed while the other readied a beating stick. The space was so small he couldn’t run past them if he tried. Nathaniel’s heart ran a marathon as he looked between the two of them, their butchering of the French language deafening his ears while his back ran into the wall behind him. He went on sensory overload as the soldiers came closer, and Chloé Bourgeois quickly appeared behind them both. She saw him and told the first officers she could find that he was around. That he was Jewish and been hiding in a basement. The only thing Nathaniel couldn’t figure out is how she got to them so quickly? 

“Baisse ton cagoule!” (Lower your hood!) This was it. Once they saw his face, he had little hope of running anywhere. “Baisse ton cagoule!” Would he survive this? Could he survive this? Whatever they were going to do them, he wasn’t sure of either answer. His breath almost overtook him, then it hitched. 

Chloé walked up behind the soldiers quickly hitting one on the back of the head with something blunt before running them both headfirst into the wall. The second tried to stand but was stopped by her hand gripping his neck as she stabbed him near the base of his jaw with a needle. He grabbed her needle hand and pulled them both off before kicking back at her. She instantly backed away into the far wall, breathing heavily. Nathaniel looked to her confused and astonished, particularly in witnessing how incredibly frightened her eyes were as she stared at the rising soldier. Then he began to fall, his arms sliding down the wall while his knees kept falling to the ground. Chloé looked down at the gun in her hand, the first soldier’s blood dripping from the butt. Instantly she remembered the rough cloth from the broach she’d put in her pocket and wiped her weapon clean.   
Within a few minutes his entire torso had fell to the ground and he made no move to stand, though his eyes were still wide open. 

Nathaniel stared at the soldier, starkly confused, until he felt a hand grab his arm. He jerked it back and looked up to meet bright, burning blue eyes. “We have to go!” He looked to her wearily as she placed a gun and a now empty needle into a purse she had hidden beneath her coat. She snapped it shut and began working her coat as she spoke. “Nathaniel come on! We have to go before it wears off. Now!” She grabbed his arm again with a vice-like grip and ran out the alleyway, not letting him pull away this time. 

Chloé pulled him through alley after alley, throwing a bloody cloth a yard into a passage going the opposite direction before pulling him to run behind her. Nathaniel complied once it seemed she was genuinely trying to lose the soldiers, to help him, but what did that mean? Why was she doing this? She turned a right and Nathaniel saw the main street waiting for them. He slowed in effort to stop but the force of her run only made him stumble. He had no choice but to follow her now. She stopped several feet before the entrance. 

“How do I look?” Chloé asked as she quickly smoothed over her coat and tucked loose strands of hair behind her ears. Nathaniel blinked slowly and opened wide eyes. 

“What?” She can’t be serious.

“Normal. Do I look normal?” 

“Normal? I…” Nathaniel looked over her flustered and annoyed until he caught the skin below her eyes. Her make-up had run in small fading rivers beneath them, two small ones reaching her cheeks. His demeanor calmed as he peered to her. “Your, makeup. It… it’s run under your eyes and cheeks.” He pointed to the spots corresponding under his own face as he spoke gently. 

Chloé put a hand to her face and immediately wiped her cheeks and just beneath her eyes for the strays. “Dammit.” She whispered frustratedly, When was I crying? Nathaniel looked her face over again. 

“It’s gone. You’re ok.” Chloé sighed. 

“Good.” She nodded. “Now listen, you have to walk with me and act completely calm.” Her words were spoken in a calmly demanding tone. “People see us out together they have to think we’re just out for a late evening stroll, talking.” 

“Talking? What.. what’s are you-?” 

“You’re walking me home where I’m going to sneak you into the building, so you don’t die on the street! You ok with that Disasterartist?!” Nathaniel stared at her with more fire in his eyes, feeling the harsh sting of the re-opened wound Chloé gave him the first time they met. He remembered again just who it was he was running with. “Just put your arm through mine and let me do any and all of the talking. Understand?!” She roughly put her arm out for him. 

Nathaniel stared at the arm covered by a posh, light tan coat for what seemed like minutes, thinking through his options and every possible scenario of escape he could make not involving trusting this woman. None of them realistically ended well, as much as he wanted them to. She was… how did the Wasp, Chloé Bourgeois, become his only hope? Nathaniel sighed indignantly before looping his arm through hers. “You’re giving me answers once we’re safe.” 

Chloé glared at him. “I’ll give you whatever I want whenever I please. I’m trying to rescue you, here. Remember?” 

“How could I forget?” His words had more venom in them than he was used to giving, but he meant every part. How could he forget just how powerless he was and how privileged she is in this new society of theirs? Nothing would ever let him or could ever make him. She saw the look in his eyes, shivering slightly at the surprise attack but quickly recovering to hand him her bag of groceries that was miraculously still intact. He looked to it with knitted brows which gave Chloé the time to breathe out the hit she just took – one she knew she probably deserved. 

“No gentleman of mine would make me carry my own groceries.” She explained. 

“Wha-?“Nathaniel could barely get out a protest before Chloé leisurely walked them onto the street. Her expression evolved from steal wired with energy what looked like a look of bitter-content. Are those two emotions even capable of co-habitating? It was the same face he’d seen on her the day he’d first met her at her father’s hotel, so perhaps this was her normal expression. 

Regardless, he turned to look at the sidewalk in front of him, his head slightly bent close to hers, looking like he was about to whisper sweet nothings into her ear, to avoid eye contact from people they passed. People walking as leisurely or more than they were. People neither of them trusted anymore.   
\----  
It was a miracle they’d managed to walk the streets of Paris without a single German or French Police Officer stopping them. Nathaniel was internally panicking every time they passed an official, fighting the urge to blitz out of sight, yet due to Chloé’s constant hushed notes and calm but high chinned stature, none bothered them. Some even tipped their hats to Chloé, and some still looked him over with curiosity or… envy but continued on their way. No matter the person however, no one seemed to be surprised to see him at her side. Hopefully that was because they were blending in as a normal couple. How they couldn’t recognize her however was a puzzle Nathaniel could never solve. 

Chloé gave a small sly smile as she pulled Nathaniel down by his coat collar. “We’re almost there. Laugh at what I’m saying.” Nathaniel let out a nervous loud laugh. “Not that loud!” Nathaniel gradually lowered the laugh to a smooth chuckle. “Better. Just three more blocks. Don’t nod!” 

“Mlle. Bourgeois.” Chloé looked away to find its source. “Bonjour.” She released a small, indignant huff. 

“Bonjour, general Mayor.” A shadow of a smile crossed her face, but her eyes seemed to shoot fire at the ripe old man standing before her. The General chuckled at this and took her hand. 

“I’m glad to see you’re out and about.” He smiled with a kiss to her knuckles. 

“You too. Looking in a mirror every day as you would make me limit my outings to the late evenings as well.” The general gave a small, singular chuckle before looking with narrowed eyes to Nathaniel. Nathaniel hid more behind his hair.

“Who might this, young man, be?” General Mayor gestured to Nathaniel, looking him over with suspicion. Chloé looked over to him, thinking a moment before looking back to the general. “Why do you have a bag, Mr. …?”

“My escort.” She said without missing a beat, before the general could ask anything more that would question Nathaniel’s identity. “He’s my escort.” Nathaniel looked to her with wide eyes and flushed cheeks behind the curtain of his hair. The general paused and gave her a look. 

“Your… escort. I would think a, unequally beautiful high-class woman as yourself wouldn’t need to go to such lengths for a fun night.” Chloé narrowed her eyes to him with a smile and stepped forward. 

“Not that it concerns you, general, but I am a high-class woman and as such, I have much higher standards and demands that must be met. And since you and your merry little band of soldiers aren’t creating the most welcoming of environments here in the streets of Paris, I must find entertainment worthy of me and my needs, wherever I can get it.” A tense silence followed Chloé’s slashing words as she and the 6’2” German general stared into each other’s eyes, neither backing down. Nathaniel was shaking within his own skin, only having the strength not to show his fear through the curtain of his hair and the now strong grip of Chloé’s hand on his. 

“I’m guessing you’ve never been fond of the phrase, respect your elders, Mlle. Bourgeois.” 

“Do something to earn it from me, general.” They stared a moment in silence once more before the general eyed Nathaniel again, who met his gaze. Behind Nathaniel’s eyes, there was the voice of panic that had been screaming in his head ever since the Germans invaded, only to increase dramatically during the events of the day following Chloé’s re-emergence into his life. The panic was there, but now it was quieter, quieter than it had been since the first bombs fell from the sky on June 3rd. The first indication that Paris was soon to be taken. The voice was quieted by the calm of resolution. A resolution that even if this man found reason to arrest him, which he really didn’t need, Nathaniel Kurtzberg would fight back. He was terrified, but it wasn’t going to keep him from being some semblance of himself anymore. 

The general took a step forward toward Nathaniel and grabbed the bag of vegetables. “Hey!” Chloé yelled as he took a peak in the bag, searching for contraband he knew she wouldn’t have. “Did I ask you to contaminate my food with your grimy hands?!” The general didn’t respond before taking an apple from the bag for himself and placing the bag over Nathaniel’s shoulder. 

“This would be the correct way to carry groceries, high above the ground so a woman of Mlle. Bourgeois’ delicacy,” Her chin rose in response to him. “isn’t subjected to eating food that’s been close to the worms on the street.” He cast his gaze to Nathaniel, then looked back to Chloé. “We wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to her as a result.” He kept his eyes on Chloé as he took a bite from the ripe red apple.

Nathaniel nodded, “Yes M. Thank you.” Chloé kept her cool stare on the general despite a slight urge to clap her hand over Nathaniel’s mouth – only slight. 

“Goodnight, Mlle. Bourgeois. I see with each confrontation more and more why they call you The Wasp of Paris.” 

“And I’m glad to see you know now what each of our meetings actually are, General Mayor.” She smiled. “Have a good night.” She gave a respectful nod, to which he did the same before giving her a momentary look of God knows what before continuing on his way. Chloé watched him go ‘till he was several yards away before she turned and pulled Nathaniel closer to her, their hands still clasped. 

Nathaniel gazed around their surroundings as they walked, waiting for a time to speak. Finally, he found one once Chloé stealthily led him through an alley that cut into a small sliver of walkway leading directly to the back of Le Grand Hotel. No windows or people could be seen from this walkway. Nathaniel pulled on her hand and made her turn. “Escort?” Chloé sighed. 

“Oh please, you’re lucky I’m letting you hold my hand, which by the way is as close as you’re going to get to me.” 

“Believe me, I don’t want to get any closer!” He loudly whispered, holding their hands up in between each other, still clasped tightly. They looked at their hands, staring with light eyes as they realized they still hadn’t let go. It was quite comfortable. They looked to each other, and upon seeing the other’s confusion immediately dropped their hands. Nathaniel exhaled frustrated as Chloé folded her arms over his chest. 

“Just come inside.” She gestured to the servant’s entrance. 

“No! I have questions! So many questions… I don’t even know where to start.” 

“Great. You can think about it while we go upstairs, inside.” Chloé grabbed his arm and turned toward the door but was stopped by a yank from Nathaniel.

“Why are you helping me?” Nathaniel shook his head. “Why, Chloé?! Tell me!” Chloé looked like she was going to say something, but the crisp wind of the blooming night soothed whatever sharp reply she was going to unleash. A small silence followed before Nathaniel shrugged angrily and continued. “There’s nothing I can do for you, nothing I can give you, pay you, everything I have is gone! It doesn’t make any sense. My friends abandoned me while neighbors turned on me and others like me, they cared so little what would happen to us, and for some reason you’re coming to my rescue? You’re the last person in the world I would expect to have heart enough to care about what’s happening to us right now, let alone…!” His voice drifted away as his mind processed the words he was going to say, ‘let alone risk your life for one. For me….’ The truth of the words, and everything that had happened up until that point, began to sink in; seeping through the floorboards of his mind like water. Slowly, the weight began to calm the once flaring emotions he had firing away at her. Another breeze passed by them and the cold stuck right through his heart. His eyes began to sting and blur. 

Chloé looked down, releasing her arms from their fold and restraining her own emotions, Her own fears, doubts, losses and sorrows… everything had to be put on hold. At least for now. She exhaled a long breath through her nose before she stepped forward and held out her hand to him. 

“You need somewhere to stay. There’s a lot we need to do, to talk about but… let’s start with that.” Nathaniel exhaled a small, detoxing breath as he stepped forward.

“Chl- Mlle. Bourgeois-” 

“I know.” She told him. A silence in words passed as their eyes spoke for them. Chloé gave a small nod toward the door. “Come on.” 

Nathaniel sighed calmly before looking to Chloés hand and slowly reached for it with his own. Their fingers met again and curled around one another for warmth and guidance as they walked down the rest of the pathway to the small servant’s door. The door opened with a small creek, and they stepped into the relative solitude of the Servant’s Stairwell in the Grand Hotel.


	3. Answers & Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this one begins the de-tensification process for both characters and the in-story night. 
> 
> Fun bickering to come. B)

Nathaniel and Chloé walked up the stairs in silence, their hands still clasped and hanging loosely between them. The only sound made was from their shoes, and the occasional laugh or thump from someone on a floor they were passing, causing Nathaniel to jump and Chloé to stiffen. However, as per usual, no one ever entered those doors, and after a few seconds of worry they calmed and continued on up the stairs. Finally, they reached the top floor of the hotel and Chloé pulled the key to the door from her coat, only one of four currently in France that gave access to this floor. The fifth was with her mother in New York City.

Chloé unlocked the door and held it open for Nathaniel, letting it close behind them with a click. Steadily they walked through the halls until they reached Chloés suite and upon opening the door entered as quickly as they could. The final door to their adventure closed and they both sighed out the longest breath they’d ever held. Chloés forehead fell against the door with a thunk while Nathaniel looked to the ceiling, his mind and eyes silently admiring the swirling pattern of the plaster while his body breathed out all its anxiety.

_Probably Gypsum plaster._ He then followed the ceiling to a grandiose electric-powered chandelier, with finely curving silver holding dangling gems and warm-toned light shades alike. Beyond that in the middle of the ceiling he looked onwards and found two greco-roman styled pillars at either corner on the far side of the room, acting as borders to the long wall of windows shaped in a semi-circle form from the ground. Beyond that he swore he could see a stone balcony, but his nerves weren't quite ready to think about what was outside those windows yet again. Right now he needed to stay inside, feel some semblance of safety again before facing whatever was to come.

Once Nathaniel felt his nerves begin to steady from focusing on the architectural prowess of Chloés large, divinely designed suite, he felt capable of looking over to Chloé. A moment later she finally opened her eyes to look directly up into his. They were calm, both of them, but neither knew how they wanted to progress from here. Parts of them just wanted to fall to the floor and cry, further still fall to the floor and sleep, but neither felt comfortable doing that in front of the other. Chloé decided to break the silence.

“How are you doing?” She asked. Nathaniel didn’t quite know how to process the question.

“Uuuh…” He looked down as if he could physically look into his heart to see what he was feeling. Turned out he ended up seeing into the depths of his stomach. He met her gaze once more. “Hungry.” Chloés brow furrowed, and her lips parted in slight confusion.

“… Ok.” She leaned off the door and started undoing her coat. “There’s a kitchen setup behind those doors.” Chloé gestured behind her to two stained glass doors with the beautiful form of a prancing peacock over a golden background. Nathaniel found himself going over the peacock’s every curve, the colors and flow of the design almost entrancing him, though it also could have been his mind’s desperate attempt to focus on _anything_ but the current problems it didn’t have the mentally energy to face.

“Hey.” Nathaniel looked down to Chloé who was now standing in a beautiful black dress which stopped at the knees and shoulders while a large gold accented white belt laid comfortably across her torso – her coat now hung on the rack just right of the entrance. Nathaniel couldn’t help admiring Chloés beauty, but the yellow purse caught his eyes and he was reminded of its contents. “Nathaniel!” Chloé snapped her fingers and his eyes jumped to hers. “Are you going to take my groceries to the kitchen or not?” Chloé looked to her purse and carefully slid it from her shoulder. “I need to put this away.” She gave him a straight-lipped look before walking to the left end of the suite where another stained-glass door – this time singular – was standing in opposition to the Peacock. This door was designed with what at first looked like a sharp winged yellow, gold and black butterfly on a sapphire blue flower with a purple center. Only on closer inspection did one realize the sharp point at the end of the butterfly’s form was, in fact, a stinger.

“Huh,” Nathaniel commented once Chloé had disappeared behind the door. He gave a small nod. “At least she’s _somewhat_ self-aware.” He turned around to look over the grandiose suite again. “Can’t tell if that will make her more or less insufferable to be with.” His stomach then clenched, growling smally. He put a hand to it instinctively before realizing he had a bag of ingredients over his shoulder, perfectly ready for cooking. What the hell was he doing obsessing over Chloés apartment design?! Immediately he tightened his grip on the bag and walked through the Peacock doors to the secondary room with a kitchen – or more aptly, half of one.  

Her set up was top of the line, as to be expected, with the stove and half a counter in laid with the wall and corner, on the other side of which stood the sink; no legs were helping these appliances stand beyond the refrigerator by the counter, which even had its own freezer compartment. Nathaniel nodded, impressed, before placing the bag on the counter and looking through her ingredients for inspiration. “What to make, what to… ah. I see.” Nathaniel paused, thinking. “Then that means there should be…” He opened the fridge and smiled upon immediately seeing the white wine and cream. He chuckled lightly to himself as he looked between the counter and the fridge. “Ok.” He nodded, closing the fridge door and taking off his flowing grey sweater to wrap around his waist as an impromptu apron. He unpacked the ingredients and was sorting them for prep as Chloé walked in.

“Ok, I think the first thing we should do is establish…” She paused as Nathaniel looked back at her. “What are you doing?”

“Cooking. Well, prepping first, but within a half hour we’ll be ready to go.” He looked back to the oh so alluring vegetables and veil he had staring up at him. “Probably less once I start chopping.”

 “Wait… you’re going to cook for me? You can cook?”

“I live alone… lived alone, in a low rent apartment building. Can’t do that in Paris if you don’t know how to cook.” Nathaniel paused, pointing to two cutting boards laying against the wall. “Which one of these do you use for meat?” Chloé looked over.

“Uh, neither. We use the glass one built into the counter there.”

“Mm.” Nathaniel nodded and placed the wrapped veil on the cutting board.

“So, you were already living alone? In the building before, everything…?”

“Yeah.” Nathaniel finished for her. He took one of the wall cutting boards to start cutting vegetables.

“Ok… where’s your family then?” Nathaniel didn’t respond for a while, pausing his movements at the mention of the word family. He became lost in his memories before seeing the cutting board in front of him again, snapping him back to reality.

“Let’s go back to you being astonished I have cooking skills for right now.” Chloé narrowed her eyes.

“When did I ever say you had skills?” She asked sharply before walking to stand on the other side of him. “I’m astonished you knew enough to distinguish between meat and vegetable prepping areas.” He looked to her with a furrowed brow. “Or that you know the difference between a stove top and a table.” She slighted. His brow crinkled further as he wondered if she would have transitioned this way on her own, or if she had received the message and was actually taking his feelings into account by changing the subject, albeit in a very _Chloé_ way. Either way, she did it effortlessly. This made him chuckle strangely, giving a small smile before looking back to the celery he had set on the board.

“Kind of hard to mix up those two. Are you perhaps speaking from experience? Mlle. Bourgeois?” He teased. She glared at him with great fervor.

“No.” She insisted firmly. Nathaniel smiled with slightly astonished eyes.

“No sharp-tongued assault at a man questioning your perfection? You _must_ be speaking from experience.” Chloé looked taken aback and angry as all hell. _Perhaps this will be more fun than I realized._ He smiled to her slyly before looking down to chop more celery.

“Even if what you’re insinuating happened, which it _didn’t,”_

“Uh hu. Whatever you say.” His tone was full of reassurance as he nodded to her with a sly smile. This made her almost growl at him, but she recomposed herself in time and gave a grimace back.

“No one as trivial as you could sling arrows sharp enough to seriously call my perfection into question, because unlike you, there is no question of my glory.” Her smile grew and became more natural.

“Mmm. Then tell me, if I’m so trivial, why do you feel the need to reassure me of your ‘questionless perfection’?” Chloé stared at him with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t.” She said calmly and stepped forward with a high chin. “Though clearly, I need to remind you _who_ you’re dealing with here.” Her tone resembled that of a whispering viper. Nathaniel felt a shiver travel down his spine, but something else inside him took hold of it and used it to charge his own slight. He leaned down to meet her at eye level, their faces were merely inches apart.      

“Believe me Mlle. Wasp, I know _exactly_ who I’m dealing with here.” He gave a small, almost devilish smile. It infected her, she could feel her cheek start to rise smally, out of her control. She looked him up and down. She’d forgotten how fun it was to battle someone she didn’t secretly want to hang by their entrails. Actually, she’d forgotten how fun felt. “And the Mlle. might want to step back from the counter, because the longer she keeps me talking the later we’ll have to eat, and the hungrier I’ll become.” Nathaniel moved his head back with a smirk before turning back to the food.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” She looked Nathaniel up and down. “M. Thomas.” Nathaniel furrowed his brow to her.

“Thomas?”

“Yep. That’s going to be your new last name.” Chloés curled ponytail swished as she turned to walk toward the other side of the room, where a cot, study desk and book lined walls were situated. “Temporary of course, until I can get you somewhere you don’t have to use a fake name, and fake documents.” Chloé said as she rifled through the papers she kept in a small, barely noticeable compartment under the long lining of her desk. A silence followed as Chloé searched and Nathaniel stared at her, pondering. “Now I just have to give you a first name.”  

“Chloé,” She didn’t turn from her papers. “why are you doing this?” Chloé turned toward him but was still searching through envelopes in her hand.

“You need a distinctly non-Nathaniel related first name if you don’t want them connecting you with the low-grade Jewish artist from-“

“Chloé!” The volume of his voice made her grip the letters as if she were going to throw them as she looked up. Nathaniel met her eyes with a nearly equally terrified expression, having made himself jump with the unexpected and sudden loudness he used for her name. A small silence followed as the two realized what happened. They then took a few minutes to breathe and gradually ground themselves into the present once more.

“Sorry. I meant, why are you doing _this_? All of this." He gestured around the room. "Why did you help me in that alleyway? Why did you fight off two soldiers and a general – also, _How_ did you fight off two soldiers and a general? – to get me here? And to add onto that now you’re talking about getting me a fake name and fake documents… you know how much you’re doing, right? You know how much danger just _keeping_ me here is putting you in?”

“I can take care of myself M. …” She sighed. “I can take care of myself, Nathaniel.”

“I’ve seen.” Nathaniel nodded. “And… as confused as I am about what happened there, I need you to tell me this first.” Chloé exhaled and crossed her arms. “Please just, tell me you know you could get arrested, tortured, or worse by helping me.”

“I’ve been living here too Nathaniel.” Chloé bit back, a little annoyed. “I _know_ the risks I’m taking.”

“Then why are you taking them? Why are you helping me? You’re the Wasp of Paris you’re not… you don’t even like me.”

“More and more with every minute you speak.” 

“Then why? Why don’t you just leave me on the streets or even in a hidden cellar somewhere else? Why are you going through the effort of taking me here and planning some future escape for me?”

“Because I’m not a bad person Nathaniel!” She pointed it out as if it were an obvious fact she was frustrated he wasn’t getting through his thick skull.

“Good people I knew turned on each other, turned on me-.”

“Well I’m sorry but you have a shit judge of character then.” Nathaniel stopped, taken aback. Chloé shook her head. “Good people may not be _able_ to help you because they don’t have the space, money or connections I do, but anyone who would turn you into these monsters is no different from the ones who dropped bombs on our home.” There was a stark, cutting quiet that fell between them. Chloés words, biting and merciless, left Nathaniel in shock and… strangely surprised. The lack of empathy in her accusation was like her, but the fire she felt towards people who… well who he thought must’ve been good generally, just… he didn’t even know what they were anymore. The comparison she made, the line she drew… he didn’t know how he felt about it, even though she clearly did. She stayed standing tall and strong in her conviction, as if it was just right. Looking at her... he honestly hadn't known if there were any people left out here who cared. Like this. His wide eyes became curious.

“You didn’t tell them I was there?” Chloé looked insulted.

“No! I ran out of the building and saw them running after you right as you turned a corner.”

“So… you ran after them, but didn’t tell them I…” He shook his head, as did Chloé.

“No.” Nathaniel paused.

“… You didn’t even think about it?” He looked to her suspiciously. Chloé thought back and looked down.

“I thought about whether I should follow you,” She looked back up at him. “or let you leave. I didn’t know which was the right decision, if me following you would actually do you or me any good. Then I remembered the reason I ran in there. Sirens mean trouble and wherever they go, you better stay inside, even if they’re just passing you by. It's not a good image for a young man to be seen running through the streets anymore, particularly just after police cars have passed the area. So I ran, and everything after that was,” Chloé paused as she furrowed her brow, trying to find a good word for it. “reactive.” She said it almost like a question, not on its meaning or relevance, but rather on a truth it was alluding to. A truth about herself she wasn’t familiar with. She looked up and focused back on Nathaniel. 

“Well, if that’s true then I better stick closer to you.” Nathaniel furrowed his brow slightly. “You’re probably the most capable person in a high-pressure situation I’ve ever met.” Chloé stared at Nathaniel a moment, unsure how she felt or wanted to react. She let out a light chuckle as the words processed in her mind and she looked back on her actions up until that point. Nearly everything she did was based off pure instinct. She re-focused on Nathaniel.

“Thank you.” She said.  

“It’s true.” He nodded to her. She gave a proud smile back. “Now, speaking of what you did, can you _please_ tell me what it was you injected that soldier with?” Chloé smiled smally.

_Wouldn’t you like to know._ She began walking toward her desk again. “Don’t worry. He’s up and walking just fine now, but he won’t know I did it.”

“But _what_ _did_ you do to him? Come on its been picking at the back of my brain this entire time.”    

“You need to learn to prioritize your thoughts then.” She sat down at her desk, having finally found the letter she was looking for. She looked up at the silence and saw Nathaniel looking at her expectantly. She rolled her eyes. “It’s a bodily compound that paralyzes someone from the injection site down for 10 to 15 minutes. Activates completely within two minutes, disappears completely within 20.” Nathaniel's brow was so deeply furrowed in confusion it looked like he had a caterpillar on his face.

“How- _where_ did you get ahold of something like that?!” Chloé looked up and laughed at the red caterpillar.

“Weren’t you starving ten minutes ago? Besides, it’s a long story and I want to eat something before _I_ start starving.” Nathaniel sighed dejectedly.

“Fine, then you can tell me when we’re eating.” Chloé looked to him and shrugged.

“If I feel like it, I’ll let you know.” She smiled slyly. Nathaniel shook his head and began chopping again.

“Where did you get the idea for Thomas anyway?”

“Your hair.” Nathaniel's brow furrowed again. Chloé smiled to herself. “I figured Tomato would be a little too obvious.” Chloés smile was interrupted by a celery stick smacking into her temple and falling onto her arm a moment later. She looked up in Nathaniel's direction. “Did you just throw Celery at me?! What are you 15?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Fact: The bombing Chloe is referencing here took place in Paris on June 3rd, one week before the French government officially left Paris and 11 days before Germany claimed official occupation over Paris and the Northern French territory. The German Air Force attacked Paris, bombing it's capital, the the Citroën automobile factory, and other suburban areas surrounding. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Skip to the fun fact if you don't want to read anymore sad war stories. That being said, if you're still here, 254 people died from this incident, including 194 civilians.
> 
> Fun fact: While I was writing the beginning of the 'bickering battle' between Nath and Chloe, I had an urge to listen to the Andy Grammar song Honey I'm Good -- it so strangely fit the beat and mood of the scene. 
> 
> I love it, though I wouldn't recommend listening to it while reading that as it gets serious again afterward. Also I don't know how it translates reading vs. writing.
> 
> Sorry for the delayed Historical Fact, I thought for sure I'd posted it.


	4. Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation from the last chapter, delving a little more into Chloe's character. 
> 
>  
> 
> Historical Note: There is mention of the Deuxième Bureau which was the French militarized information gathering agency specifically dealing with international conspirators/enemy troops. Basically France's CIA or MI5. 
> 
> It was in place from 1871 to 1940 when it was disbanded by the Reich Regime, and nowadays is used as short hand or a general label for France's Intelligence System.

Chloé and Nathaniel’s conversation drew to a gradual close as both became more preoccupied with their relative tasks. Chloé herself was going over her “guest” list of patrons currently in the hotel, corresponding their names with their living spaces on a map. She already marked the second, first, and third floors with a black line traveling through the entire floor; all were occupied by German soldiers. It would be a long time before she could safely let Nathaniel go down the stairwell, on his own or otherwise, with the possibility of soldiers entering and seeing him. At present a young male stranger without documents, wandering around _this_ hotel would spell trouble in 18 languages. _Not to mention red hair and a finely designed jaw makes him stand out._ Chloé counted herself lucky that Nathaniel at least looked pretty enough to be a basic courtesan, making it a story she could continuously run with; so long as she could teach him how to stop blushing about it.

Then there was the fourth floor, spotted with a few regulars who refused to leave or couldn’t find passage in time as well as generals, captains, and a few high-ranking soldiers being quartered to the lift side of the floor, far away from the stairwell. She marked the German Occupants’ rooms with black dots, regulars with blue, and empty were left blank. The fifth floor was marked with fewer occupants still but had more blues than blacks. She then reached the sixth where there was only three black dots and 7 blues. The last floor was the seventh, her floor. No German soldiers were allowed up here, as per instructions of their commanders at _her_ _request._ She may not have had a choice in letting them stay there, but she knew the advantage she had. She knew she was a spectacle, seen as a beautiful creature that was a glory to witness in action, witness the stalk and kill of its prey, or have the horrible privilege of being her prey. She was more than happy to give them a show of her true abilities. In doing so she demanded the seventh floor be off-limits to _all_ uninvited personnel as the price of conversing with her, witnessing her, and being all around acknowledged by her. There was a power she found in being seen as more than human, and yet simultaneously less than.    

The seventh floor unfortunately still had other occupants in the blue, some of which she considered… acquaintances, but not quite friends – now that she knew what those actually were. She didn’t know if she could trust them, and so wasn’t about to. She sighed. Being cooped up in this apartment could be maddening, she knew after a week of just sitting there after the bombings, too terrified to sleep let alone go outside. Eventually she just couldn’t stand it anymore. Something in her needed to be outside, just for a little while just walking. And every week for nearly every other day afterwards, she continued that walk. Walking aimlessly but aware, as if she were searching for something… but she didn’t know what. What was she searching for?

“Chloé.” A swaying hand suddenly entered her vision, snapping her from the rabbit whole she’d gone down in her mind. Nathaniel looked to her curiously as her brow uncrunched and she looked up to him with her elegantly neutral expression. It was impressive how she seemed to fall into a more… not emotionless, but emotion diluted expression so immediately. Particularly after looking like she was close to solving world hunger. Nathaniel leaned back a hint. “You…” _Maybe not the best approach to let her know she was acting like a normal human._ “Is something bothering you?” Chloé looked down at her color-coded map.

“I’m looking for the safe places you can go in the hotel. So far I have my suite… and arguably the last two floors of the stairwell.” She looked up to him. “Until I can get you some documentation your ability to traverse is going to be limited to this suite.” Nathaniel looked over the map, his brow rising slightly. All evening Chloé had proven to have more than an instinct for how to destroy you, now more and more he was seeing her show an intelligence in strategy and planning he’d never seen before… he was impressed. As well as slightly terrified. With her reputation as a vapid but cutting socialite, and not having much interest or thought in study of any kind, he never would have guessed she would be this calculating. Of course, the contrast wasn’t the reason he was impressed, that just added surprise and a little more terror at the thought of what she could do if left to her devices.

Chloé noticed Nathaniel’s expression and glared suspiciously. “What?” Nathaniel looked to her piercing gaze and felt the chill of being caught with blood on your hands. It felt like if he moved, she would know what he was thinking, he had to come up with something quick. The last thing he wanted to do was insult the intelligence of a woman who was clearly capable of far more than she let on to the world.

“Nothing, it’s just…” He nodded and looked back to the map. “good map. Impressive… Uh-hu! Markings you got here.” He nodded profusely while gesturing to the map. Chloé narrowed her eyes at him, which is why he avoided them with every muscle in his skull. He grabbed a pencil on instinct to distract his nerves. She then turned her chair and stood.

“You know,” She began as she slowly walked around her desk. “as an escort you’ll be able to fly under the noses of most everyone here,” She stopped and stood just behind Nathaniel, closer than he realized. “but if you don’t learn how to lie,” Chloé rose her hand to reach for his. “how to _act_ the role,” Her hand hovered over Nathaniel’s before elegantly taking the pencil from him, grazing his skin softly. A shiver went through him and he turned to look at her, eyes… charged and confused. Definitely terrified, and… something else. Chloé shook her head slowly. “someone’s going to notice, and you’re looks _won’t_ be enough to rescue you.” Nathaniel met her eyes and gulped at their closeness. It was no closer than they had been in front of the stove an hour earlier, but the way her eyes were grazing over him, scanning him for any sign of weakness while he was trying to hide… what was it he was trying to hide again? He honestly couldn’t remember, he just felt every nerve in his body firing on edge. Then, upon processing her words, his nerves slowly returned to him ever so slightly.      

“My looks won’t be enough to rescue me…” He quoted back to her, eyes softening to curiosity. “Is that your way of saying you think I’m handsome?”

“Huh,” She smiled. “Please.” She looked him down and up with a quick gaze, as if she didn’t need any time to make her decision. “Barely passable is more how I’d characterize it.” She nodded with narrowed eyes.

“But passable nonetheless.” Nathaniel smiled cheekily. Chloé rolled her eyes.

“Whatever you need to believe in your ability to seduce, and satisfy, a paying customer.” She gave him a flat smile as she turned, only looking away after stepping towards the kitchen. “I take it your vying for my attention means that dinner’s ready? Or were you just too mesmerized to stay away from me?” She looked over her shoulder to him with a slick smile. “I bet it was both.”

“Oh yes, because I love torturing myself with your presence.” Nathaniel lamented as he began walking back toward her.

“Mm, I’d imagine it would be torture being around someone more pristinely perfect than yourself.” She opened the cabinets above the set-up and brought out two white porcelain plates with blue patterns and gold accents surrounding their borders. She shrugged lightly. “Naturally I’ve never had that problem.” He stood next to her and she began handing him a plate.

“Well, I’m sure Satan tried his absolute best.” Chloé gave him a steely glare and a scrunching pout with her lips before taking the plate she was going to hand him and placing it under hers. She directed her attention to the veil and thus missed the judging look Nathaniel gave her before rolling his own eyes and reaching for another plate… only to discover that there wasn’t one. “Uh, Chloé…?”

“Nope. No more plates.” She turned, her plate already stacked full of the warm, delicious meal. “You’ll have to wash the one I used last night.” Her eyes flickered to the sink before walking toward a small reading table set up near the windows. Nathaniel followed her gaze to the sink and sighed as he realized the dried, cheesy, sauce caked plate she had waiting for him. After this and the expert way she managed to de-bilitate two trained and armed soldiers before side-stepping while insulting a general earlier that day, he wondered if she wasn’t secretly an ex-agent of the Deuxième Bureau and the reason she saved him was because she had nothing better to do with her now unutilized skill set of strategic violence and torture.

After 17 minutes of profuse scrubbing and drying, Nathaniel walked over to the eating table with a full dish and excited breath. Without a second thought he dug his silverware into the delicious smelling meal and began to devour it. Chloé looked to him with one raised brow as her mouth morphed into a clover of disgust.

“Ugh, gross.” She commented. Nathaniel paid no mind to it, too busy enjoying the warmest meal he’d had in weeks. He moaned with a sigh at the sauce; savory even without the cloves, though he did miss them.

“When was the last time you ate? The 18th century?” Chloé slighted before carving more into her own meal. Nathaniel gave a light chuckle, placing a hand over his mouth to be sure no food had escaped.

“Not quite that long ago, no. Though it’s felt as long since I had a real, cooked meal.” Nathaniel moaned once more at the tastes, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes to the ceiling. “I haven’t had this in so long, it’s so simple but… uuuuh so good.” He was so hungry, he was sure he’d lost some body-fat and probably some muscle from staying in that cellar; scared, bored, alone, and with nothing but canned goods to live on – goods that were running out. All of the stress he was under from the chaos, the fear, and the darkness of that solitude… now he couldn’t care less about any of it. This Veil, this was a personal victory he would never let go of.

Chloé’s brow furrowed at his stature, curious as to whether she should ask, though she’d noticed before how scrawny he’d become when he was slim to begin with. However many questions she may have for him, what happened, where his family was, and whether she should call her doc… a doctor to look over him, it seemed that this wasn’t the time for it. For any of it. He needed to be free first, feel some semblance of enjoyment to balance out what was happening within and around him. She understood that.

 _He’s still acting disgusting._ Her blue eyes blinked as she rolled them. _Does he even know how to eat like a civilized person?_

“Well try not to inhale your meal and choke out what little intelligence you have left.” She took a bite of meat and celery from her fork.

“Mm.” Nathaniel moved his gaze to her and opened his eyes. “How do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” She nodded to his food with a short, sharp movement as she cut into her meat. “keep eating like that and you’ll find your brain being starved of oxygen until you pass out and one by one your neurological cells start to die, making you lose what little intellectual brain functions you have at your disposal.” She cleaned her fork with her mouth, looking Nathaniel dead in the eyes before looking down to her food. Nathaniel quirked his head.

“How… you talk different.” Chloé looked up to him. “You’re talking differently,” She peered to him, confused. “now… and when you told me about the serum, you sounded like you knew exactly what you were doing.”

“You think I would carry a weapon like that around and not know _exactly_ how to use it?” She looked to him incredulously.

“No, I mean… you used language that sounds like you know exactly what it is, what’s in it, how it works down to the very last detail. And now you're insulting me by talking about my… nerogal cells dying? I’ve gathered it has something to do with my brain, but the point is… the Chloé Bourgeois I remember meeting didn’t seem the type to care or know _anything_ about science, or really anything beyond the latest fashions and how to devour her enemies.” Chloé narrowed her eyes at him, unmoving.

“And people get all uppity at _me_ when I put someone in a type, though I’m usually right.” She quipped. “Also you speak as if a sharp fashion sense is something to be ashamed of, then again given what your wearing I suppose that’s because you don’t have one.” She clarified with a look that made Nathaniel’s legs squirm ever so slightly in his chair, but internally he was glaring at her. She smiled. “Yes, well. To be fair to you I wasn’t the woman I am now when you met me.” She leaned back in her chair a little before crossing her arms. “I speak about the serum like I know every detail about it, because I do. I helped design it.” Nathaniel’s brow furrowed, and he leaned forward, placing his arms on the table. “I’ve been studying bio-chemistry and molecular biology for five years now, starting under a doctor I knew who… got me _slightly_ interested. Then I started trying to help him and his wife with a problem, found out I liked learning about the subject, and never stopped.” She shrugged. Nathaniel looked to her in aw and confusion.

“So you, just woke up one morning deciding to be a doctor and… became one?”

“I’m not a doctor,” Her gaze slid to the side in thought before she smiled, thinly. “not yet.” Her smile grew ambitiously, and she slid her gaze back to Nathaniel.

“Huh…what made you suddenly go into _hard physical science_? I don’t remember any of my science classes, but I know even the simpler lessons were difficult to grasp.”     

“I’d imagine they would be when your trying to doodle cartoons during lectures.” She slighted with a smile. Nathaniel pointed to her.

“Excuse you, I doodled comic strips!” He paused then at seeing her delighted smile in knowing she was right. He took back his arm and cleared his throat. “And that’s not the point.” Chloé chuckled, almost sadistically enjoying Nathaniel lose himself.

“Look, you’re right. I didn’t care about anything when you met me, anything but my own power and survival.”

Nathaniel’s brow quirked. _Survival?_

“But that doesn’t mean I was never capable of caring.” There was a small quiet as Nathaniel took in her words.

“Then what changed?” He asked softly. “What made you care?” Chloé still had her arms crossed as she leaned back against her chair, her ankles crossed one over the other. She assessed Nathaniel, eyes narrowed slightly but more like she was trying to gage him rather than intimidate. He waited for her to respond on her own terms. Chloé exhaled and looked away momentarily.

“Let’s just say,” She paused a moment, her features softening the slightest bit. She looked back to Nathaniel. “I was finally being cared about by people who knew how to.”

A still quiet passed between them. Neither spoke, and neither needed to. Nathaniel thought back to the day they first met, as he had most of the evening, trying to remember if he’d missed something from their encounter, wondering if he’d made too quick a judgment of her. All substantial evidence led to _no_. However, upon thinking back this time, he did remember how easy and quick her father was to take her side. How he fired Nathaniel per her request almost immediately, then brought him back only because Chloé allowed him to, her reason being that she hated every other artist who came in so much _more_. He was the least insulting to be in her presence is what he got from that. Is it her father she was talking about? He seemed to care about her heavily, more than anything else in the world. Then again, he’s with the rest of the government in Vichy, while she’s here in a military occupied Paris, running _his_ hotel. Maybe there’s more to the relationship than he can see.

Chloé looked to his plate out of need to look somewhere else, then pinched her face together. “Elkh.” She pointed to Nathaniel’s dish. “Your hair is in your food.” Nathaniel blinked several times.

“What?” He looked down to see a small group of red strands balancing in the sauce on the plate. “Ah!” He pulled back immediately, and they landed on his shirt. He sighed dejectedly, it was one more stain to add to his… one of three shirts. That he hadn’t washed in a week. He sighed again as his shoulders slouched him forward. Chloé gave him a look, swallowing her last mushroom before speaking.

“Don’t worry, if I can’t buy you a new one I can have the staff wash it for you tomorrow.” She stood and walked around the table with her plate in hand, slowing to a stop beside Nathaniel’s seat. She tilted her head judgingly as she looked him over again, this time intentionally focusing on his clothes no matter how much they burned her retinas. “Better yet, how about we wash your whole wardrobe, since I’m guessing you won’t let me burn it?” Nathaniel’s eyes cast up to her with a dead-eyed glare. Chloé sighed smally. “That’s what I thought.” She then continued walking as Nathaniel turned back to his meal with a roll of his eyes.

Chloé ran the water in the sink as Nathaniel gathered another delicious bite to devour. The silence felt right and natural as she rinsed her dish, leaving the actual washing for later when Nathaniel was done with his own. She laid the plate down and stopped the water, flicking it off her fingers a moment before reaching for the towel… and pausing, just before she grabbed it. Her brow furrowed slightly, and her lips parted, a realization coming to mind. She glanced to Nathaniel sitting with his back to her before looking back to the towel just in reach. Breathing in and out, she calmed herself and grabbed the towel.

“Nathaniel?” She called, wringing her hands dry.

“Mm?” Nathaniel turned in his chair to look at her, his expression neutral. She looked up from her hands to him; her expression soft but unclear.

“I don’t know all that you’ve been through this past month, but for me its been an endless search for the answer to ‘What’s next?’. What’s in store for us?” She blinked a few times, pausing. “Tonight, is the first night I’ve had, where I haven’t thought about that question in hours. And I think that may correlate with this being the longest interaction I’ve had with someone in the entirety of June.” Nathaniel stayed silent, eyes peering with curious realization, and eventual understanding.

“I think the same is true for me.” He said quietly, looking to empty space. Chloé did the same, exhaling a large breath before nodding. She stood against the counter silently only a moment before chuckling. This grabbed Nathaniel’s attention to her, she met his eyes with a small, genuine smile. One he hadn’t seen on her yet.

“I haven’t had this much fun in weeks, and this is the most we’ve ever talked to each other.” She chuckled again. Nathaniel looked down, and eventually began to smile and chuckle himself.

“We really haven’t,” He looked up to her. “and when we have, we mostly traded insults.” He shook his head, smiling. “And I still kind of hate you.” She started to laugh.   

“I despise your personality.” He began to laugh with her. “Even now we’re _still_ insulting each other.”

“While laughing no less.” Their laughter became a little to hard and loud for words to form, so Nathaniel settled for nodding until his breath slowly came back to him. He shook his head, smiling. “Though I guess that’s part of the fun.” He commented before looking back to her. Chloé had settled her laughter as well but was still smiling, warmly.

“Thank you,” She nodded. “it’s what I needed.” He smiled and breathed out a small chuckle.

“Me too. And Thank you for, everything.” He shook his head with a small shrug. “Who would’ve guessed that being stuck with you during Armageddon, once my worst nightmare… would end up making me smile so much.” The two shared a quiet, understanding look. “Then again it’s only been one night, I’m sure you’ll find a way to get under my skin somehow.” Chloé chuckled, the sadistic lilt to her voice returning.

“You’re naïve to think I haven’t already.” She stared at Nathaniel with a glittering devilish grin in her eyes. A small, challenging smile pulled at the right side of Nathaniel’s lips. Chloé then gestured to the cot behind him with her head. “There are more blankets in the bottom drawer of my desk. Use your sweater for a pillow if you need another.” She moved from the kitchen toward the Peacock doors. “Don’t answer the door if you hear anyone but me knocking, I’m going to sleep.” She stopped at the peacock just before turning to him. “Saving helpless bachelors in distress is _quite_ exhausting.” He shook his head lightly, trying to fight a smile to her.

“Uh hu, I’m sure it is.” Chloé smiled slighly to him just as the doors closed behind her, and he was left to silence.

Nathaniel looked to his meal, thinking of the simplicity of its design as compared to the complicated chaos of society that reigned outside. It was the perfect balm. _No wonder she chose this._ Nathaniel leaned back in a stretch and began to yawn. The warmth of the veil and vegetables spread from his stomach to the rest of his body, more warmth than he’d felt in weeks coursed through his veins and muscles, tiring them for inevitable, and perhaps a restful sleep. He chuckled to himself. _Maybe she actually is perfect._ Nathaniel looked from the dish to her desk. _Barely._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alya and Nino will be coming into the story soon, and then we'll shift the focus on them for a little bit. 
> 
> Sound fun? B)


	5. In the Dark of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yah better watch out,  
> Yah better just cry,  
> Yah wanna just pout? Well so do I,  
> because Fall Finals have come in, to tooooooown!
> 
>  
> 
> Actually they finished a week ago for me but still it was a hectic month of projects, emotions and tests. I have come back victorious however! And with new chapters coming soon. 
> 
> This one will be a little darker in the beginning as it talks about Nathaniel's stress and delves more into his past and emotions. There is description of war, including mention of blood, fire power, bombs, etc. but none become explicitly graphic - no talk about specific injuries or actions taking play. It's more to describe chaos.
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the delay! I hope you enjoy.

Nathaniel laid exhausted in a soft cot too small for his feet not to dangle off the edge, surrounded by warm blankets and darkness with a warm, full stomach to keep him at ease. It was the most relaxed he’d felt in months, the warmest meal he’d had in weeks, and the brightest buzz of post-conversational soothing he’d experienced since before the Summer began. So many things had happened in the past year, the encroaching threat of Germany’s tyrannical reign no longer content with looming in a dark and swirling storm, thunderously striking at the hearts of all Parisians and all of France with the invasion of Poland. Suddenly they were at war, and every man with good health was being called to arms. Never had Nathaniel been more grateful, and simultaneously guilty that he couldn’t stomach the sight of blood. The sight of battle… the sight of people he knew, people he didn’t, all surrounding him with weapons sweat and grime; powder fueling their guns, the blood of their injuries or others they’d inflicted crusted on their brows and clothes, as loud bursts of agony and the booming sounds of chaotic victory reigned over fields of previously calm and empty beauty.

Nathaniel sat up with a deep breath and let out a troubled cross between a cry and a moan. There was no safety from the terror. He set his elbows on his knees and pressed his hands into his eyes. He didn’t want to see these things. Why did he have to see these things? Why did he have such a vivid imagination for visuals he never even experienced? Ones he didn’t _want_ to experience. He breathed rapidly as exhaustive sweat beaded at his scalp and between his shoulder blades. A sweat that would’ve boiled his insides as his heart pounded, but felt his body freezing at the sight of people running and killing, running and killing; everyone desperate to fight to win, to survive, but constantly being thwarted by death without seconds or with hours as wounds left them torn, bare, alone... 

 _Nope! No!_ Nathaniel breathed in deeply as he opened his eyes, immediately standing and walking around the space. He noted the shelves, the books, the kitchen ware in the cupboards, the purposefully rustic pattern of the tile below his feet. He needed something, anything to take his focus off his own imagination.

The fear and vividity of these images didn't come completely without reference. Nathaniel was six when his Mámon Anétte came back from the first World War. The war to end all wars…

“Ha.” Nathaniel shook his head. “Hahaha.” He chuckled softly.

She worked as a nurse, demanding to be on the front lines to help more soldiers, along with many other women in service, not including his Mama Martha who stayed behind to take care of him. Eventually, Mamon got her wish and was sent to the front when he was four, and when she came back… she wasn’t entirely different, but not entirely the same. She was harder, and in some ways softer, colder, but in other ways warmer, more compassionate to things that were beyond Nathaniel’s understanding at the time. Things he was experiencing, and others were. She tried to keep him away from what she’d experienced, the gruesome details of it anyhow, but she had a diary. And when he was 12, he wanted to understand her, how he could help in the times when the war seemed to come back to her, hurt her. She had stories there that were boring, stories that were confusing, stories that were prideful, courageous, and inspiring, as well as some that were kind of funny. They honestly made him even more proud of his mother. He wondered why she would want to keep this from him, even if not all of them had happy endings and some made him cry, she was always doing her best. The biggest hero he’d ever read about.

And then he got to pages he was never supposed to see. Pages he would never willingly read again now. No tears came from these pages.

He can’t remember most of what he read that day now, but it definitely left something with him… he didn’t know how to process it. It was something deep and dark, that always seemed too large and foreign for him to understand, or fight, or sometimes even feel, so he just sat in it. Waiting for it to go away. What else could he do?

He could feel that smoky mass again, unfurling inside himself to stir at the base level of his guts, letting him know it was there, ready to envelope him again.  

It wasn’t until the sound of a loud Nazi caravan passing on the street below them that he was snapped him from his mind. He watched as the caravan passed by, still in his perch until they were far off into the city, out of his sight. He exhaled a long breath out and the tension in his muscles all released with it. He roughly fell against the table, hitching his breath only slightly as he didn’t realize he’d been falling, but beyond that not caring as he rubbed his eyes. His breath became heavy and long as his body gave into the exhaustion. Everything inside him from his mind to his bones throbbed with waves of tension being relieved too fast too soon, but he didn’t care because it felt so uneasingly good - he just wanted this to be over. His palm slipped from his forehead to sweep over his burning cheeks.

“Hhuuuuuuuuuh.” He released a sound that was a cross between a groan and a croak. Nothing was going to make this easier. Nothing but sleep. He just wanted sleep, and he can’t even do that without freaking out. He sighed and soon the energy it took his legs to prop himself up against the table was too much. He slid to the ground clumsily and leaned against the hard-wooden leg just heavy enough to where he could rest but it wouldn’t move on him. At this rate he was going to be lying on the floor, waiting for either sleep or the dark something to swallow him in the night. He breathed slower and steadier, not needing the oxygen as much as he closed his eyes and let his head land with a thunk against the wooden leg. He needed to think. He needed to rest. He needed to feel calm and steady, not calm and drowning. Letting his wet face escape the heat of his entrapping body made it cool in the opposing air, returning a sense of serenity to his senses. Eventually he began to feel the stick of his hair to the sweat of his back and moved it around his neck to lie on one side, exposing the skin to the cold wood.

“Hooooooo.” He sighed in relief as he fell completely against the cold leg. This made it move back in protest after a moment, forcing him to open his eyes and sit up.

His head wavered back and forth before he moved himself back to rest against the leg again, but this time he kept his eyes open. His eyes caught a glint of light reflecting off the blue glass of the doors. He followed the light to the rest of the glass, looking over the prancing peacock once more, green, blue and gold feathers fanning in a flying curl leading to the bird’s curving, deep blue body. A body that had pieces of black shadow on his back, where just above, his neck was stretching his head back in an arch, as if he were twirling in the grass. Nathaniel rose from the ground and softly stepped toward the stained glass door, his head moving with his eyes to look over the art. The stretch of sky surrounding him looked to be night, with a white crescent moon and small, diamond like stars shinning with the light of the real moon that hung right outside the building. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were actual diamonds, not because of Chloe’s life-style, but because of the bright shine that gleamed from them... ok partially from Chloe's lifestyle.

There were two stars displayed closer than any of the others, half-way between the moon and the peacock’s crowned head. They seemed to shine brighter than actual stars, gravitating towards one another as the peacock looked up to them with gold and teal flecked eyes. Yearned for them. Wanted nothing more than to meet them where they were, to be with them again, and hold them. Just hold them.

A small smile grew on Nathaniel’s lips as a few melancholy tears fell from his face. He put his hand up to hover near the two stars, stroking the air around them like you would a person, or two. “I miss you.” Nathaniel whispered to the stars in the dark. “I always miss you.” A moment later his hand dropped to his side, swaying lightly in the air by his leg as he continued to stare at the stars and the peacock, smiling sadly as his body began to cool.      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna check out more on French women in World War One? Here's a link down below:
> 
> https://encyclopedia.1914-1918-online.net/article/womens_mobilization_for_war_france 
> 
> Historical Note: Also France at the time and for the century before was a pretty open place for gay people, though there was a request not to have it be "explicit" meaning out/"in your face" by the Napoleonic regime's constitution in the 19th century, but it wasn't really enforced much. By the 20th people weren't very uppity about LGBT+ couples, culture, literature, and the like in many negative ways. Then the German invasion happened and a reconstruction of France's constitution fell into place, putting stricter meaning to the previous policy set-up by the Napoleonic Constitution.


	6. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a link down below to a fake document I have made for the story because I couldn't figure out how to upload it to Archive. I would recommend giving it a look when it comes to that point in the story. 
> 
> More information in notes.

Sleeping was one of the things Chloé enjoyed the least about her day. She knew she needed it to some degree but thought of it as a complete waste of time. Particularly in recent years as she found more and more things to care about doing. She wanted to be awake, wanted to be actively doing _something_ instead of lying in a bed feeling useless, a feeling that seemed to worsen the more she cared about the things going on outside her room. It used to be that she could combat these feelings with opening her books, her research, or staying up talking with her mentors about both science and life. They were good to her for that. Now… now she couldn’t do any of those. If she got up from bed to read, research, and comprise she wouldn’t come back ‘till that morning… and speaking with her mentors about anything now was impossible. They weren’t there. Neither were her parents. She had absolutely no one with her…

Thoughts like this usually spiraled Chloés mind into a sinking maelstrom of over whelming feeling, pulling her deeper and deeper into the suffocating depths of her own sorrows, her own fears. Everything she could possibly feel seemed to hug her with large aggressive arms, tying her body and weighing her down so that not only was she sinking through the torrential depths of the maelstrom, but there was no wiggle room for her to fight it; nothing to give her leverage to push or pull from, to free herself. She was left to perpetually drown in herself until she fell asleep to the burn of her tears and the strangling pressure of her silent cries in the dark.

Waking to Chloé seemed arduous in energy, but far easier in practice. She would feel heavy and drained, but at least sustainable; like she was able to slowly come back to life and operate again once the sun was out and she’d found herself on the beach where the water had washed her ashore. Now it only lapped at her feet in a low-tide, never leaving fully, but promising to return once the moon rose with no promise of how deep it would take her next time. In Chloés mind, that was a problem for next time. The waters were low, her mind was calm, and her heart was too tired to fight anything, including the budding rays of sunlight she could tell somewhere in her dreary subconscious were falling through her curtains, but she wasn’t ready to awaken yet. Not remotely. She was going to peacefully sleep until it was the right time.

 

The right time may as well not exist anymore.

 

Chloé heard vague noise from outside her room, so soft she wouldn’t have acknowledged it if it wasn’t followed by someone opening her bedroom door sometime later. Her energy levels momentarily spiked and she slid her eyes open partially enough to see who was there, but still seem as if she were sleeping. Her eyes saw a quiet moving figure with red hair silently move around her bed, closing her eyes with a roll and a tired huff once she remembered it was only Nathaniel and contentedly went back to sleep. _No dangers there._ Then Nathaniel whispered her name, and upon her lack of response continued to do so with louder hitches in his voice. _Except of him suffocating beneath my pillow._ She furrowed her brow and only a light moan escaped her closed lips, tiredly telling him to Fuck Off. Nathaniel didn’t seem to get the message and insisted on speaking more annoyingly, eventually touching her shoulder and trying to shake her awake. This garnered more of a reaction from her as she grabbed his wrist in the air.

“If you want to survive this day, you’ll get _out_ of my room.” She moaned tiredly, not even opening her eyes.

“Chloé please. Please!” Nathaniel pleaded in a whisper. He looked back toward the door as a faded knocking became more urgent. “Someone’s trying to get in.” Chloé opened her eyes at that. They were blurry and soar, but alert. Her ears then perked as she heard the vague knock become louder and insistent. Someone wanted to get in. She looked to Nathaniel, his eyes were wide and panicking.

“Get under the bed, near the headboard.” She whispered as she let go of his wrist and lifted the sheets off her white silken gowned body. “Don’t come out until I tell you.” He nodded quickly, moving out of her way as she set her bare feet on the floorboards and quickly walked toward her closet. He then quickly crawled beneath the bed as quietly as he could, almost curling into a ball on the room wall. Chloé meanwhile grabbed a pastel yellow robe with a white hair collar to fold around her before walking out to the waiting room. She passed by a mirror on the wall, looking to her reflection and quickly fixing her hair to rest in steady curls over one shoulder, hiding the knots and tangenting strands that had formed on the other side.

_Knockknock, knockknock, knockknock, knockknock…_

Chloé took steadying breath before opening the door a crack and resting her hand on the heart of her robe as her eyes shot ice cold daggers into the face of her alarm. “What.  Do you want?”

The poor serving girl. Her already nervous brow had lifted into an expression of terror as Chloé’s piercing blue eyes tore through her very soul, a soul already dealing with a sometimes surreal amount of fear and stress. She shuddered with a small, high pitched gasp as her shoulders scrunched back slowly.

“What is it?!” The girl spoke at rapid speed on Chloés command.

“The Generals want the fourth and fifth floors to be cleared so they can move more soldiers into the building.” She nodded, voice high and frightened. Chloés eyes widened as she let go of the door.

“What?” It edged open slightly as she stepped forward. “They know they can’t. When was this decided?” The serving girl shook her head speedily.

“I don’t know Mlle.”

“Well what _do_ you know?” The girl gulped and shriveled further away.

“They were talking this morning about it at breakfast, I overheard them saying they were bringing in more troops to train the police and that they wanted to house them here… _all_ of them, here.” Chloé sighed frustratedly, looking away and thinking what she could possibly say to them to make them take this business somewhere else.

The serving girl looked around the corridor, her stance still shaking, before plucking up the courage to lean forward and whisper. “Mlle. Bourgeois,” Chloé looked to the girl, her iron cold expression not giving her comfort. “I’m sorry but… I don’t know how long I can keep this up.” She whispered. “My little boy and I we… I rely on this job to feed him, to keep him safe he’s… he’s all I have left here. If more soldiers come here than there already are I…” The girl zipped her mouth shut before looking down at her bony, wringing wrists and letting out a deep breath she’d been holding. “I’m scared they’ll find us. Jean he, he’s only a quarter, only a quarter from my mother’s side…” Chloé’s expression changed as the girl spoke, her brow furrowing as her expression became more open. The girl looked up from her hands and found a strength in Chloés look of listening. “If they separate us… if they take him from because I… I’m not…” Tears clouded the eyes of the woman Chloé saw before her. She herself took a breath before stepping out of the door slowly, grabbing her arm as she looked side to side down the empty corridor. She then gently pulled her into the suite.

“Come inside.” She whispered. The woman did as she was told and at the closing of the door began to speak again.

“I was raised here, I’m a citizen _here_ , they have _no right_ to take my child away from me! … and yet that’s what I know they’ll do.” The woman remained silent for a moment as her tears threatened to boil over, until eventually nothing could stop the pressure in her throat but her own voice as she held her head between her shoulders and cried. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.” Chloé kept her hand on the woman’s arm, gentle but firm, as she let her speak. “I know I’m asking so much, you’ve done so much already in letting us stay here and keeping our origins secret… but I fear they’ll find me, and if they do I know they’ll take me away from my son. I’ll never see him again if they find me. I know it. I know it.” She was leaning against the door, shaking her head in her hands as her tears flew. “I need help. For my son, I need to be there for him I… I have to stay with him, but I don’t know how I’m going to.” She looked to Chloé with embarrassed, desperate, pleading eyes. “I… please. Please can you… can you help us?” Chloés expression was soft, but thoughtfully sharp and understanding. She looked to the woman a long while before rubbing her arm softly, the way Pollen used to do for her. Chloé gave a small nod.

“First let’s sit you down. Ok, Yana?” The woman, breathing heavily through her tears, nodded and Chloé threaded her soft, strong arm through Yana’s to lead her toward the couch at the center of the room. Yana sat, still crying, by Chloés side and held tight to Chloés hand after she’s momentarily placed it on Yana’s knee to find her own balance. Chloé looked from her hand to Yana slightly confused but thought it best to just leave her hand as it was and let Yana grip it as tightly as she needed to, maybe hold hers back.

 

Nathaniel in the other room, meanwhile, had heard Chloé talking to someone in her demanding voice, but then there was an unusual amount of silence before the door clicked shut and someone else’s voice began to speak, gradually growing louder and more frightened until he could hear what exactly she was saying. Or rather, pleading. It was someone coming to Chloé for help. When did she suddenly become the go to heroin of Paris? Was there an announcement he’d missed praising the reform of the previously infamous deviant diva? Judging by the way the woman had spontaneously begun to break down crying, speaking in broken desperate sentences… this actually wasn’t planned. The very idea that two hunted souls were turning to Chloé Bourgeois for help was more a sad and terrifying indicator of their lives now. They would look to nearly anyone for help away from the Nazi power… even the queen of harpies herself.

However, what was more surprising to Nathaniel was how well Chloé handled the situation. Once they moved further inside the suite Nathaniel found himself crawling softly toward them to hear what she was saying… and not a single drop of venom had dripped from her mouth or laced into her words. Granted she didn’t speak much, letting the woman do most of the talking, but that in and of itself seemed a marvel for the Great Chloé Bourgeois, a woman who _would_ outlive God just to have the last smiteful word. What was most telling though was how she spoke when she did, quietly and firmly, but as if you were being held up by something strong and warm. Small words and phrases that on their own didn’t amount to much, but when said in the way she spoke… they gave the same stability of a lit fire hearth on those winter nights when the whisping wind cut through the wood and brick walls, trying to freeze you in place.

 

“Everything’s gone out of control. I thought, I thought we would have more time to leave. I thought the government would fight for us, give us more time to leave…” Chloés brow furrowed as Yana cried into the skirt of her apron and continued to hold a tight grip on Chloés hand. Her breathing was slower now, calmer, but still hitching with each sob. Eventually she took out a small, folded up pamphlet from her apron and handed it to Chloé. “I just don’t know what to do.” Chloé remained silent as the woman’s sobs slowed and softened until there were barely any left between minutes. She then looked down and unfolded the pamphlet with her fingers to see the title page…

  

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1wy-Y5UAUbTYLF2Z42UqEC6O3_7XTSzLJAxjwnCyZIrg/edit?usp=sharing

 

Chloé held her eyes on the pamphlet, paying mind to the image of their invader manipulating their new leader, quite the popular French hero from the first war. Some thought him to be the savior of France, others thought him the source of their final destruction. Chloé… she thought the cartoon to be the most accurate, if she was right about what Act exactly had been passed in session yesterday. Chloé let out a deep, smooth breath.

“Yana.” The woman looked from the condemning pamphlet to Chloé. “I want you to go downstairs and do whatever it is Chef Césaire tells you to. Work as if nothing has happened today, or nothing that you’ve heard of. I’m assuming our national newspapers won’t be writing from this perspective.” She finally looked to Yana with a stoic expression and gave her a nod. “Thank you for bringing this to me.” Yana’s eyes were tired and low in color. Chloé softened her lips and cheeks to her. “You were right to come here. And you have my word… I’ll make sure you and your son will be safe soon.” Yana’s eyes brightened as they slowly widened, then froze for a long moment until she let out an audibly shocked breath. Then another verging on a cry. Her breath then came back to her and she nodded to Chloé.

“Yes. Yes.” She blew out another calming breath before standing from the couch with a short nod and walked toward the exit to Chloés suite. Chloé looked to the pamphlet once more, opening it to read the full story making her brows needle in concentration just before Yana turned around. “Mlle. Bourgeois?” Chloé looked up at her name.

“Yes?”

“… I…” Yana contemplated for a moment before easing into herself, and blowing out the first calm breath she had in a long time. She gave Chloé a small smile of gratitude. “Thank you, Mlle. Bourgeois.” She gave Chloé a bow of her head before turning once more and leaving out the doors. Chloé watched her leave before looking back to the pamphlet, unaware of the change that had taken place in front of her as well as her role in it. Her focus now was on figuring out what was going on, and what she needed to do next.     

Moments later, Nathaniel slowly sifted out of Chloés room and walked over to her, slowing once he read the pamphlets titles. A heavy breath sank his chest and closed his mouth. Another sign of defeat for the French People, though he supposed there was hope that someone, albeit an unidentified paper, was seeming to write it as it is. He then noticed Chloé had not looked up upon his arrival, he wondered if this was because what was being read was too enveloping for her attention to be severed, or if that just was how she read. Either way, the partial caterpillar forming above her eyes did make him smile a soft chuckle to himself. He looked over the pamphlet again, then decided to sit down beside her and read over her shoulder. She flattened the pamphlet to an angle where he could more easily read with her and the two sat in silence, reading of the world that had now arrived.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pamphlet Translation: Vote for Petain passed! The Government has exchanged (traded) one dictator for another. By - Citizens of France 
> 
> Historical Note: The cartoon was actually done by Dr. Seuss later when trying to explain the effect Nazi Germany and Hitler had on countries they invaded. More of what's happening in historical context will be explained in the next chapter when Chloe and Nathanael speak about it.


	7. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all need to let ourselves feel man.

_“_

_“… The walls of France have fallen, and now so have the walls of our government. They’ve handed off the reins of absolute power to Philippe Pétain, and now our futures will be paved by his domain.”_

 

Nathaniel closed the pamphlet with a sigh and gently tossed it onto the glass paneled table in front of him as Chloé slowly paced on the other side. There was a moment of silence as Nathaniel absorbed the unknowing absurdity of everything he’d just read.

“Well, at least… at least it’s Pétain.” Chloé barely gave him a glance before she looked back to the air in front of her, thinking. “He’s a hero. One of the best warriors and military minds France has ever had. He helped win the first war against the Germans, perhaps he can do something again now.”

“They won’t go to war.” Chloé spoke, but did not look to Nathaniel. He, however, rose his gaze to her.

“What do you mean they won’t go to war? We’re already at war.”

“No, we were.” This time Chloé looked to him, keeping his gaze. “The government’s been moving from city to city trying to avoid capture from the Germans. Some officials even fled France entirely. Now they’re staying at Vichy, after reaching an…” Chloe looked away momentarily. “…armistice.” She looked back to Nathaniel and carried on. “They made a peace agreement with Germany, and now they’ve put all governmental power into the hands of one person.” Chloe looked to the air again, arms crossed as her hair shook - now in a curling high ponytail behind her – with her head. “Cowards. None of them knows what to do besides what they want to, but no one wants to get their hands dirty. So, they’re putting all the real responsibility on Pétain. Duhk, cowards.” She began slowly pacing again.

“How do you know that’s what they’re doing?” Nathaniel leaned forward. “How do we know they aren’t putting one of our greatest military minds in power because they’re… I don’t know, preparing some massive rebellion?”

“Because half of France’s most eligible soldiers have either been taken prisoner or killed, while 40% have fled, and 10% are living on my couch.” Chloe gestured to Nathaniel and her hand fell to her robed thigh. “You need soldiers to fight, and officials don’t exactly call on us women for help unless it’s a last resort.”

“You don’t think we’re at the point where a last resort would be considered here?” Nathaniel asked as he slowly rose from his seat.

“I do, but they don’t. Not the ones who put Pétain in charge, trust me. I know them better than you do.”

“Oh what, because your father is a congressman you’ve been able to study political science as well as biological?”

“Not by choice, but yes.” Chloe glared at Nathaniel, stepping closer. “I had to know how to converse with potential allies at any social gatherings thrown so I didn’t bring harm to my father’s image and could simultaneously do his campaigning for him.” Chloe was shorter than Nathaniel but this made her no less intimidating when she got this close with that glare. “You hang around people long enough you pick up knowledge, patterns, and secrets you may never have wanted to know, but they’re still in your head because _that’s_ how it, intelligence, works. The next time you question the legitimacy of mine _again_ will be the last time you speak. Understood?” Nathaniel opened his mouth to speak, but upon listening to her realized he was actually the one in the wrong here. He closed his mouth with a sigh and nodded.

“Yes. You’re right, I’ve been assuming… left and right about you despite my assumptions _obviously_ being wrong. At least when it comes to your… _amazing,_ capacity for thought and analysis.” He looked to Chloe with the greatest sincerity. “I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

Chloes eyes softened at his words while her expression shrunk onto itself, creating a beautiful tapestry of surprise, pride, and confusion upon her face. “Right. It better not.” She replied, voice calm and not quite as sharply demanding. She looked into his eyes once more, pausing before stepping back. Nathaniel smiled smally, pleasantly surprised – and also not – by her.

“Anyways, I’m just trying to think of what good can come from this. Pétain was a good leader, an amazing soldier, and he’s been loyal to the French people his whole life. I just think he may be able to surprise you. Even if… the rest of the government, isn’t.” Nathaniel sighed and rubbed his tired eyes with one hand, eventually pulling his hair back with it. “Though it’s certainly throwing me through a loop.” Chloé looked to Nathaniel with analytical eyes.

“I… I don’t think I asked this but, are you ok? It’s been a… pretty stressful 24 hours for you.”

“A stressful 24 years is more like it.” Nathaniel laughed. Chloe looked to him with a slightly confused, and curious, eye; letting him speak. He exhaled as his hand fell from his hair and he rose his gaze to meet Chloe’s. “I’m j…” He exhaled again, closing his eyes as he tried to get ahold of some energy, somewhere, to hold him straight and help him speak. He thought of his mother, Anétte, with her unbridled hope of most things shining through to him. Then he thought of Martha, strong willed and vigorous, willing to take on anything in their path – both obstacles and flowers. Then, as his breath began to ground, he thought of Adrien; a beautiful face he hadn’t seen personally in two years, but he wished he could see again. See that smile, hear that ringing laugh, hug and be held in his strong arms. No one could hug quite like Adrien to Nathaniel. He then felt a hand hold onto his elbow, as if trying to give him a semblem of support. His eyes opened, and he saw Chloe, looking up at him with a soft but unreadable expression on her face. He didn’t need to look down to know the gesture of support was from her. He sighed, lips smushing together before he spoke. “Everything I love, or ever have loved, my family, my friends and partners, my city, my art… it’s all been taken away from me. And I am squeezing out every drop of hope I have left in me just to stay some semblance of myself in this torentous, down-poor of nightmared insanity that has taken over… _everything._ ” Nathaniel breathed, looking to Chloe’s eyes as two tears trailed lightly from his. “I don’t want it, to take _me_ over too.” His breath hitched at his last statement, but after he said it, he finally began to breathe easier. Chloe loosened her grip on Nathaniel’s arm and her fingers stroked his skin slowly, in comfort. The two kept their eyes locked on one another. Chloe nodded.

“Me too.” Her voice was so low and rumbling it was nearly a murmur. “Different, but... me too.” She said, her voice regaining some of its’ strength and clarity. Nathaniel nodded, his hand grabbing under her elbow the same way she had grabbed his. They both took a long moment to calm and steady themselves in the ebb and flow of these emotions. They were tearing and breaking from behind closed doors and broken windows before, but now that they admitted the pain, the force of them began to lessen, though the weight still carried through. Chloé finally exhaled and let go of Nathaniel’s arm, he followed in suit. “I’m going to change and, go deal with the generals and whatever plans they may try with me.” She stepped closer to the coffee table and picked up the pamphlet as she spoke. “You can, use the bath after I’m gone. Make sure my bedroom and the bathroom doors are both closed and locked,” She looked up to him, pointing the now closed pamphlet at his chest. “and if anything in my bedroom is moved, I _will_ know about it. Understood?” Nathaniel smiled smally, still feeling some of the excess weight, and nodded smally.

“Understood.”

“Ok.” Chloe dropped her hand and made her way to her room. “I’ll come back later, but I may leave again shortly after. I need to see a friend.”

“Chloe?” She turned at her name with her hand on the door handle. She looked to Nathaniel rather expectantly after a few seconds passed without him saying anything.

“Yes? What is it?” Her snipe was beginning to return to her, but in this moment Nathaniel found a strange hilarity from it that never had dawned on him before. He gave her a light smile.

“Just wanted to say, you don’t look half horrible with morning bed head.” She narrowed her eyes at him as she opened the door.

“You don’t look half pathetic with no dressing gown.” She smiled back before disappearing behind the stained-glass door, which did not let one see much into her room at all. Nathaniel gave a sad chuckle at her retort, feeling a little better, before turning around and moving back into the peacock room, where he would be staying for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for my lateness. I've been experiencing my own down-poor of personal events that have left me feeling very heavy. We'll see if this can be fixed with more writing, now that I feel up for it. :) 
> 
> Historical Note: Phillipe Petain is the general/politician/war hero they are talking about. I would look him up to get a better read on him, he's interesting.


	8. Jean Piers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot to figure out for Mlle. Chloe Bourgeois.

Chloé stared at the Captain’s aging face and had an urge to surgically rip it off with bladed, manicured nails.

“Mlle. Bourgeois, I assure you there will be no further guests in _your_ hotel without a week’s advance.” Chloé continued to leave her brow raised at him.

“I’ve told you before, Captain Streig, given the size of your parties I need to know more than two week’s in advance if I will be needing to open more floors to your soldiers. There are rooms that haven’t been used in weeks and patrons who live here, as they have for years prior, whom I need to consider. Too many young soldiers on a floor with two elderly couples who with light sleeping heads will lead to cranky patrons, which leads to an even more volatile solution, I will be forced to enact should your soldiers not _behave._ ” Her death stare had only been casual up until this point in the conversation, where now her eyes had widened and looked just about ready to bore holes through the wall behind the captain’s skull. He looked to her with a respectful smile and shook his head.

“It’s women like you who make me wish we were more willing to accept female soldiers. Your glares alone would strike fear into the heart of generals before a battle had heard its first shot.” Chloé gave him a small smile, being unable to help the praising image. “We would win the white flag in seconds.” He cleared his throat and made a genuine effort to remain focused and respectful to Chloé. “In regard to your concerns, Mlle. Bourgeois, there is talk of more infantries possibly visiting Paris in the coming weeks of late July, but they most likely will be trading rooms with the soldiers you are already caring for. Your numbers should remain relatively the same, the faces and names of your guests will be the only thing to change every month or so.” He explained. “I swear to you. I _will_ speak to you each and every time this happens and make sure you have every name and possible detail we can provide two weeks before the change happens. And I will leave detailed instructions for whoever takes my place, and his after that, to do the same. Is that to your satisfaction?”

_My satisfaction involves you not being here entirely._

Chloé looked to the Captain with a slightly grimacing expression. “That will do.”

“Magnificent. I’m glad we could clear this up.” The Captain put his hat to his heart and gave her a small bow. “Now, if you’ll excuse me Mlle. Bourgeois, I must be off. Have a wonderful day.” She gave him a small, wry smile as he left the restaurant bar with no further words. Her smile then dissipated at his exit.

Captain Streig was one of the ‘guests’ she could stand given his general sincerity and respect when speaking with her and other women of the hotel, but he still represented the people who made her afraid to enter the front doors of her own home. Afraid for herself, not in the slightest. Afraid for what she’d do to them in passionate anger if she walked by hearing and seeing too much, most definitely. Words had always been Chloés forte with knocking people down, the problem is that in this situation they didn’t do her jack-shit. They still came to the hotel, they still expected her to play along. And to do what’s right by the remaining guests and her father… or more literally, her health, wealth, and well-being, she must let them. She must let them be here, and not physically torture them one by one by ten, or they’ll make the lives of her staff and patrons miserable after putting a bullet in her head. Words she can get away with because they don’t hold threat to the office of power they all live in, all across Europe. Nothing she can do, right now, can take that away from them.

She let out a grimacing sigh that turned into a small, angry growl. Her hand slammed onto the empty bar she was sitting at and she sat up straighter.

“Jean Paul!” A tall man of a strong stature walked out from the back to the bar.

“Your usual mid-morning pick-me-up, Mlle.?” Chloé rubbed her forehead with her fingers as she nodded. Jean Pier gave a flat, knowing smile and a nod. “Of course, Mlle. Bourgeois.” He turned to the back wall and took a Russian Vodka off the top shelf. He brought the bottle to the bar along with a shot glass and poured her a drink. Chloé took the glass in her hand the second the last drop plopped and slung it down her throat. She exhaled the burn, feeling it awaken her senses with gradual intensity. She kept her eyes closed as she slapped the glass back on the table.

“One more.” She said. Jean Pier poured her another shot.

“Are you feeling alright today Mlle. Bourgeois?” He asked as he poured. She didn’t answer before swinging the second shot down and exhaling a steamy breath. The burn coursed through her again while the first shot settled into her system, relaxing it slightly already. She would need this to deal with today. She opened her eyes, looking forward as she thought.

“I’ll be fine, Jean Luke.” She said in finality. A twinge of a smile appeared under Jean Pier’s mustache and he nodded.

“Of course, Mlle. If there is anything else you need, anything at all-“

“You’ll be here.” Chloé looked to Jean Pier, meeting his eyes and pausing. “I know.” She breathed out shortly. She then nodded smally. “I know. Thank you, Jean Pier.” She smiled smally to him before taking her purse from the bar and leaving toward the exit of the restaurant. Jean Pier looked after her with a small smile on his face. It then dissipated slowly at her exit, and he returned to his work.

 

Chloé went through a list of associates, and possible allies, she could reach out to in Southern France. Political sons, daughters, writers, musicians, inn owners, entrepreneurs, anyone she could contact for help in transporting… people. Her people, to be precise. At least Nathaniel, Yana, and her son. That’s what she needed to focus on right now, it helped to temper her internal storm. A few names came to mind, but only because she knew they would have the means and didn’t know whether they were to be trusted, as opposed to flat-out knowing they weren’t. She needed someone else to help with that, someone who knew people better than she did, on the personal scale. She had to talk to Adrien, in person. Something she didn’t like doing for the sheer fact that she would be unable to carry a weapon into that house. A house no longer welcoming to any part of her being beyond the surface, which even then wasn’t a guarantee. It had become a house of benign horror. The front decorated by a foreign flag, whilst inside every room and hallway was stale as it steadily had grown to be in the last decade of their lives, but now each banal object, color, and painting was… off. It all gave a sense of authority that was backed by an ominous shadow, small but dark to a point where it was near impossible to see, let alone understand, but one could feel. One could feel it in the shudder that ran a line up their leg and an army shivers up their back on the first steps inside. Everything was controlled, pristine, perfect, and hauntingly so.   

Perhaps she could get away with a syringe if she hid it properly on _her_. Chloé breathed out a breath of relief as she entered her room, making her way to the headboard of her bed. _It just might work._ The door to the bathroom was shut and so she assumed Nathaniel was bathing there. She gripped a brick situated a foot above the headboard and began to pull.

“Don’t worry. It’s just me.” She called without looking away from her task. A sigh of relief and moving water was heard from the other side of the door.

“I was worried you were a maid.” He called back. Chloé pulled three more times and inched the brick completely out of the wall.

“Aaah!” She grunted. “Maids wear Ricci flats.” She replied, quieter this time as if it was more an instinctive comment. She looked inside the brick, where four syringes sat wrapped in a cotton embroidered cloth. She spread the cloth and took one syringe from the hold, carefully placing it on the bed before re-stuffing the cloth into the brick carefully and gently pushing it back into the wall. By the time she was done it looked like any other, not a seam out of place. She then searched her drawers, getting out a flat white garter in which she’d clumsily sewn a rather long lipstick pouch years earlier. Serendipitously, it was a workable size for the syringe. Quickly she pulled the garter up high onto her thigh before kicking her leg onto her bed for ease of access. She hiked up her skirts and grabbed the syringe, handling it with great care as she curled over her leg, making sure she didn’t accidentally push any liquid out. The cap would keep her from accidentally sticking herself, a necessary time expense in these scenarios, but it wouldn’t stop the pump from pressing. Delicately she slid the syringe between the stretching fabric and the frill to slip inside the added lipstick pouch, and discovered it fit perfectly.

“Hm.” _Even my mistakes make perfection._ She smiled proudly to herself as she observed the cozy needle before lightly throwing her skirts over her legs once more and returning her foot to the floor. She looked around to think, making sure she needed nothing else from this room before she left. Eventually she nodded, satisfied as she picked her purse up from the bed and slipped it over her shoulder. “I’m leaving again, I’ll be back in several hours. Same rules apply, understood? And stay away from the windows.”

“I’ve been a fugitive for a month now Chloé, I think I know how to keep myself that way by now.” He replied.

“Mm, is that why you ran out of your safe place in mid-day upon my discovering you, without listening to a word or reason? How did that go for you again until I showed up?” Silence followed, she could feel him trying and failing to respond with a quip of equal quality in his defense. Oh, the fun this used to give her.  

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” She grinned.

“Yes. Don’t drown before I get back.” She replied snarkily before heading straight for her door.

“Don’t die before I drown.” She chuckled at the sheer oddness of his retort before closing her bedroom door and heading straight for the exit. She locked the door to her suite behind her and made her way down the hallway, down the stairwell, and to the city streets once more, where she wasn’t as safe as she would have liked to be today, but at least she had an ace up her stocking.

_Hmm, Gabriel. I almost wish you’ll give me an excuse to use it._


	9. Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alya & Nino are quite tender.

_Gaulle has resigned his position. Council will no longer meet. The Third Republic is lost._

_Pétain’s been given control, and everyone is either happy or devastated. Those in the latter are stuck in a calm suffering; trapped in a tall glass with lots of space, able to see everything around you, but you cannot touch it. Liquid Amber slowly pours into our jars, filling our see-through prisons with the ultimate weighted chain, further freezing us in a state of petrification, with no control over what is happening, and no thought of hope for what’s to come. We are entrapped in a place that looks like home, but the great Paris of my childhood and my life… she is neither gone nor present. She is here, but I am stifled from her, I cannot feel her anymore._

_The world’s imagination may think us relatively the same should we continue to survive this war relatively untouched by open-fire… but that’s their mistake for thinking fire, being burned, must do more harm to a people than being frozen in place while everything around you crumbles and warps into nightmares. _

            Alyá took her hands from the type writer and set her elbows on the desk. Leaning forward she let her clasped hands press into her lips, unaware and uncaring that her lipstick may have left an imprint on the skin. Her brain power was being directed to her eyes, where her focus was fighting the ever-growing urge to shrink away into her amber glass again, letting the liquid rise until it consumed her, putting her in a state of conscious sleep. It was terrible to be petrified and conscious of the world around you, but turning that petrification into an opportunity for sleep, sleep that part of her oh so desperately wanted to be in until this whole war was over… what a nice reprieve that would make from the world. After reporting on the Armistice and the Pétain decision, with the positive to neutral twist being insisted upon by her editor with beaded brows, she was entirely tempted. What did she have to stop her? She had no power, no outlet for speaking out, and no source of income without giving in to the popular demand. She stayed because she wanted to prove her worth and prove to the world that the Parisian people were fighters, they wouldn’t go down without one… but in those last few days… the Exodus… it was unlike anything she’d ever seen. People fleeing in pulled carts and wagons with everything they owned, no soldiers out to the rescue, but fleeing to the same end… they had lost. Even though the government said they were doing well… they had lost. She had lost.

            Álya sat for a solid fifteen minutes without writing, without moving, completely lost in her feelings and thoughts. The lack of key stroke ‘clicks’ for that amount of time led Nino out of bed and into the living room to check on her. He found her with glazed hazel eyes staring at a half blank piece of paper in the type-writer. Her stature was unmoving, so much so that you couldn’t tell whether she was tense or relaxed. Perhaps a weird mixture of both?

            “Áll?” She didn’t respond. Nino stepped toward her. “Álya? Is everything ok?” He asked from right behind her, just before looking up to read the paper. He too became silent, his mouth closing at the second sentence, his hand reaching for her shoulder by the fourth. His warmly weighted touch was enough to break Álya out of her frozen state. She made a low mumbling sound before leaning her head back from her hands and turning to look up at the one holding her shoulder.

            “Nino?” Her brows furrowed in concern as she saw the sad stoicism in his face. She then followed his eyes to her words on the type-writer and upon rereading some of it, understood instantly. There was a small pause before Álya sighed and crossed her chest to cover Nino’s hand with her own, their fingers intertwining over her fluffy sandy-gold robe and holding tight. At the end of his reading, Nino’s eyes looked to the table, conveniently the lowest point for him to stare as he processed some of the emotions Álya had now given voice to. They stayed in silence for a while until Álya felt a hand stroke through her hair and Nino gave her a loving kiss on her head.

            “It’s good.” Nino told her in a low, somewhat raspy voice. “It’s really good.” He ran his hand through her hair once more and Álya leaned her head back against him.

            “It’s what I want to write.” Álya looked to the page with a small look of reluctant defeat. “Too bad no one’s ever going to see it.”

            “Why not?” Álya sighed, eyes still fixated on that paper.

            “It’s too truthful.” She responded with a little angry snark to her voice. “But beyond that, it’s not painting Pétain as a good decision.”

            “…Probably because it’s not.” A large smile slowly grew on Álya’s face before she couldn’t stop herself from chuckling. Nino smiled down to her as she curled further into him and brought his hand down so she could hold it against her chest with both hands.

            “Yeah. I just don’t know what else I can do.” Álya paused a moment, drawing swirls on Nino’s hand with her ring finger as she thought. Then she sighed a heavy breath and her hand collapsed on his. “They’re taking my writing away. I can put ink to words but the ones they want me to write… they aren’t mine. In no conceivable world are these words my own.” She hit the desk with a pound of her fist on an open newspaper from a week or so before; **Government Signs Peaceful Armistice with Germany**

She scowled with a disgusted grimace at the paper whose previous issues had portions framed and adorning the walls of their cozy, warming home. “Who knew the evacuation of tens of thousands of people within a few days of war-torn soldiers returning to the city with cries of failure was constitute enough for ‘peaceful’?” Álya shook her head. “I told them… I told everyone we were fine. That the troops, were winning and the end of this conflict was on the horizon… They listened to me because they thought we would tell the truth, and we thought we were. We thought we did… there were nothing but lies on those pages.” Nino kneeled onto the floor and hugged Álya from behind her writing chair, holding her warmly and tightly against his neck and chest.

            “You didn’t know they were lies. You were doing your job All, and you did everything you could with what you had.” she exhaled a tired breath and let her head fall to rest against his. “Most everyone who wanted to get out could in the end, despite... everything. We have empty streets to prove it.” the following silence privied only the smooth and deep exhalations of their breath.

            “Why didn’t we go with them, Cher? I…  sometimes I can’t remember why anymore.” Nino took another, shorter, silence to think, smiling as he thoughtfully pieced together the right words. He adjusted himself to hold her a little closer, as well as place his lips near her ear.

            “From what I recall,” he began, stroking her head with his fingers. “We were getting ready to, then one of us went out to get food, and ended up spending the entire day helping those who were leaving, after trying to warn those who weren’t.” Álya looked to the space in front of her, a glittering smile gracing her lips and eyes. “And when you came back, you told me you’d rather die here fighting than anywhere else, because this was home. This was always, would always be our home, and you couldn’t leave that. You couldn’t leave the house where you grew up, the streets we played in, the club where we first met, the park near the Arc where you write in the summer, the bridge where we first kissed. You knew we couldn’t leave it behind with no guarantee of it all still… being here.”

            “So, if it’s all my fault, then why didn’t you talk me out of it?”

            “... because I knew you were right.” Álya turned her head to face him, looking into his tired but smiling eyes. “I couldn’t give up on Paris any more than I could give up on you.” An emotionally charged smile curled Ályas lips and her eyes began to wash the Amber away. She turned and pulled Nino into a warm, clinging hug, which he happily returned.

            “I wouldn’t have been able to stay without you.” Nino nodded.

            “Neither would I.” A warm, relaxing silence followed their words and melted the remaining Amber away from their hearts and bodies. “I think you should finish what you’re writing, just as you want to write it. I don’t know how we’ll get it out there, but we will.” Álya sighed into Nino once more.

            “We’ll see what I can do.” She smiled.

            “And a sight to behold, it will be.” He finished, smiling back and holding her closer, closing his eyes as he melted into the comfort of her. She ran her fingers slowly through his hair and felt inclined never to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Note: General Charles De Gaulle was a military mind who in the beginning of France's involvement with the war was minor - named Undersecretary for War and National Defense - going back and forth between England and France talking on behalf of Prime Minister Reynaud - of France - to plead for assistance in the fight against Germany. A fight which at the time they were planning to keep the front lines of even if Germany pushed them into Northern Africa! - in accordance with Reynaud's words to Churchill. However this didn't change any of the European or American powers ability or stance on sending France help, making Reynaud's words far less attainable, though admirable. Reynaud then resigned in late June and Gaulle was called to be the new Prime Minister in Vichy - Hitler officially dubbed him the leader of the "Free French". This lasts just over a week before the council finally settled on voting the Third Republic out of existence and making Petain "Chief Executor of it's power" - an almost all powerful placement in the government - for the rest of the Occupation. (Politics is fun @me) 
> 
> Relating to Alya:  
> 2nd Historical Note: Most of the Parisian French people up until this point were being told by papers and government officials that France was doing GREAT in the war and that the Germans didn't stand a chance against them. The French government was deliberately giving this kind of misinformation to its people for reasons I haven't quite been able to gather, other than I guess trying to keep up their country's morale. It wasn't 'till the retreating French forces starting entering the city limits war-torn and frightened on June 5th that EVERYONE who could began to evacuate. This evacuation is described as the largest Exodus seen of the modern era.


End file.
